The Dance of the Marionette
by Lett
Summary: Betancuria's Royal House has fallen and the last of its line, the Princess-turned-Rogue Sarla, decided to marry Arto Benthur in a desperate grab for power. Caught by the strings of deception and love, will the Princess ever become a Queen? ADwR Fanfic
1. The Princess, The Rogue, The Marionette

**Notice and Disclaimer**: The original story did not originate from me. This is a fanfiction for A Dance with Rogues (ADWR), a community-made module for Neverwinter Nights that won Module of the Year for 2006.

**Context of the Story:** The story starts during the wedding at the end of the game in Greenfork Castle. I took some liberties and pitched in the name I gave my character in the game (from "Lyanna" to "Sarla Lyanna" or just "Sarla"). I tried to follow as faithfully as I could the original details, but there may be some that I have forgotten or deliberately omitted or flexed in order to add hue to the story.

**Character Background**: Sarla is a sorceress/rogue multi-classer who gradually shed off her pretensions of being a Princess. She's acquired a certain hardiness that comes with waking up and suddenly realizing that she's not the center of the universe. Her arrogance turned into a fierce determination to get up from whatever stumbling block she's come across and ensure that she'll be triumphant in the end. Hence, she's the type that cries and agrees to go with Vico after he raped her, seduces him later at the Dwarf Inn and then kills him to complete her revenge at the gladiator contest in the Underdark. I'd say her alignment is Neutral Evil.

She ended up with _no_ romantic interest at the end and was married off to Arto Benthur. As a reviewer had pointed out, it gives me far more flexibility with the plot. But my main reason behind this decision is that I don't think the romantic options in the game were appropriate enough for her character. (Vico was too violent, Anden was too reserved, Rizzen was too different, Pia was… not really my thing, and as of the writing of this story, Bran was nonexistent, and even then he was too sweet).

**Prologue: **

**The Princess, the Rogue, the Marionette**

The sound of tolling bells echoed across the cobbled courtyard and the surrounding lush forest. Soldiers clad in red chainmail and heavy steel wraps stood at attention guarding the entrance to the chapel, their heavy halberds held high.

There was a solemn disposition hanging heavily in the air as a ceremony started between two people who could not have cared less for each other.

"We are gathered together here in the sight of the Gods, and in the face of this company to join together Arto Benthur and Sarla Lyanna Stormborn in holy matrimony…" The voice of the priest spread to the unhearing ears of the audience. His tone was deep, joyless, and seemed to naturally merge with the rough gray church walls.

The bride's head was bent forward. Her dark auburn hair flowed down her head, looking dull as its reddish golden color was overpowered by the bloody sheen of her bridal gown. It covered every inch of her body, save for her face.

She stood very still, a large red blot before the altar. Her head was bowed in deference to the armor-clad man beside her and to the priest in white robes before her. She could almost be mistaken for a ritual sacrifice to the gods.

And perhaps, that was exactly what she was.

She barely heard the bells ring continuously overhead and deafened everyone to the point of apathy. She also paid little if no attention at all to the words of the priest before her.

"This rite of marriage in which you come now to be joined is the first and oldest rite in the world… And what it was then, it now is; marriage has never fallen. It is that of Heavens which continues still today…"

The bride could only hear her own thoughts.

"Marriage can be to you, your personal Heaven, your private Eden; and it will be just that, if you build your relationship upon the precepts of the words of the Gods, which I commend that you do in His Name."

Slowly, she lifted one of her fingers with apparent difficulty, as if she has not moved them for a long time. Her wrist gave a little jerk and she began rubbing the fabric of her glove against the fabric of her gown to stimulate her senses. She could feel only a little from this, only a muted warmth at the area of friction.

Her thoughts focused instead on the color that clung vigorously to almost every inch of her body. She frowned, as if amazed by the revelation. _My wedding gown is as red as the color of blood. If I were to be wounded, my blood to course along the woven fabric, would the color still show itself through?_

"Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and forsaking all other keep yourself only unto her so long as you both shall live? "

_Why do the Dhorn like this color? Is it the reason why they indulge in so much carnage? Because they want to paint everything red?_

Sarla lifted her amber eyes and cast a glance at the man beside her. He was looking forward, focused on whatever it was that the priest was saying. He casually opened his mouth and mouthed the words "I do", like it was the easiest thing in the world.

_What was it that the Mending Sisters who were taking care of me said? Lord Benthur was so dreamy, it takes a royal birthright to marry him. As if I could ever believe that._

Then he looked at her from the corner of his eyes. The connecting glance was enough to pierce through the thin veil of deafness that surrounded her, and she heard the priest's voice for the first time since they entered the chapel.

"Sarla Lyanna, do you take this man, Arto, to be your wedded husband, to live together according to God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?"

_When I look at him, I can only feel hate. Hate for everything he stands for. The uniform he wears, the empire he is from, his rigid and composed posture, his blond hair, his lips, his blue eyes, everything! I want to see him __**bleed**__ while wearing that uniform! _Her fists clenched, and she felt the warm blood gather and tingle as her chaffed skin reclaimed its sensation.

"Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health…"

Her frown deepened._ You ask the impossible, priest, for there could never be anything between us but this hate. _She could almost feel as if the Dhorn soldiers were surrounding her all over again. In her mind, they were marching calmly, coming in from all directions, closing in. There was no escape.

The priest looked up from what he was reading and caught her eyes, "…and forsaking all others keep yourself only unto him so long as you both shall live?"

Sarla's breath was caught in her throat. It was either this or death.

She closed her eyes and when she opened them again, she tried hard to focus her sight for the first time. _Very well. Let's start this. For everyone who perished, for my slaughtered family, for those who are living still, in my war-torn kingdom… And for the life I could have led..._ "I_…_" Sarla started, but found herself unable to continue.

_I must have gone insane to want to go through with this!_ _I can't say it!_ Her thoughts raced. She felt panic rise up her throat. She looked down at the fabric of her red wedding gown and remembered their blood-red color. She thought to herself. _Do you want to see Arto bleed?_

She glanced at the priest again with set determination in her eyes. "I do," it came out clearly and calmly, like all vows should. But this was not the vow to love and comfort, to honor and keep her husband; this was vow of revenge and death. _I do vow that you will die by my hand, Arto Benthur. Soon._

With this thought, she relaxed and realized that she had been clenching her fists for quite a while. She released her hold on herself and immediately felt relief as the blood rushed through her flesh again. It had a welcome numbing effect on her body and she easily passed into a state where she could not hear, feel or see anything.

Not even when Arto turned to her, pressing his cold lips against hers in a brisk and unfeeling kiss.

_End Prologue_

_Special Thanks__ to __**Iridaesin**__ and __**Tawni**__ for beta reading the chapters!_


	2. The First Dance of the Marionette

**Chapter 1:**

**The First Dance of the Marionette**

A large banquet was prepared to celebrate the wedding at the dining hall of Greenfork Castle. Arto and Sarla sat before a large table covered by white linen with lace and maroon edge trimmings. Their table was set on top of the platform before a large open space, immediately visible upon entrance.

A countless stream of well-wishers came through the large iron-wrought doors to greet them. Real nobles, fake nobles, endless line of soldiers… Sarla did not care to remember nor pay attention who was who. She merely nodded when Arto nodded, bared her teeth in response at the persistent guests who sought her attention and stared elsewhere the rest of the time.

When the guests were settled, the food partly consumed and the wine heavy in circulation, the man who dressed himself as the King of Betancuria rose from his seat and everyone became silent. He eyed his daughter as if to make sure that she was paying attention. "It is never easy for a Father to lose his only child," he began, "Especially a daughter who means the world to him."

_Oh, you'll lose a lot more before I'm through with you._ Sarla thought as she stared at him with a neutral expression. She folded her hands neatly on her lap and continued to listen.

"Normally, there are extended ceremonies that take place when the Crown Princess takes a husband, but since these are dark and troubled times we have forgone most of them and followed only the necessities that such a union would require," the King continued, addressing the nobility. Then he turned his attention back to Sarla and started to walk in her direction.

"My little princess, I heartily approve of your union with this man. I believe that he is a good man; he will be able to take care of you and provide for you in the lifestyle you are accustomed to. He will protect you in the darker times ahead. It is with regret that I send you to another country, another empire far from your homeland, but believe me when I say to you now that it is necessary and it is for your own good," he stopped walking in front of her table, looking intently at her for an extended period of time.

He finally tore his eyes away and looked at Arto before returning his eyes to her. "I wish you all the marital happiness in the world. I could never have parted with you, my beloved daughter, for anyone less worthy. I wish your mother could see you now."

Sarla dropped her gaze and a slight frown appeared on her brow. _My mother chose to take her own life than to be touched by any of you…_ She closed her eyes and appeared pensive. _Perhaps I should have done the same._

A polite applause resounded across the room as the King leaned in across the table and kissed her on her forehead. When he leaned back Sarla released her hold on the table knife that she gripped and made the pretense of wiping her eyes as the King shook Arto's hand.

--

A costumed troupe danced in front of the banquet table to entertain the guests. Lively music played from a string quartet band and everyone was fascinated at the acrobatics of the dancers.

Sarla was not interested in the spectacle before her. She glanced at her side and studied Arto's profile. He was sitting as stiff as a board and watched the show in front of them with the calm manner of a puppet master who holds all the strings. Now that they were close enough together, she could finally study his face closely.

He had a broad forehead, eyes that were so light a blue, they looked gray, a high-bridged nose that had a slight indentation, and wide lips that were full if they weren't drawn tight in disapproval. Sarla traced her eyes along his strong and well-defined jaw that was framed at the sides by his soft blond curls. By all accounts, he would be considered young and handsome. _And he will very soon be dead._ She thought as right hand clenched on her lap.

Arto met her gaze, and she immediately looked away. He looked down at her untouched plate, "You should eat."

She brought her eyes down to the rich spread that was before her, noticing its contents for the first time. The food held no appeal for her but she could tell that it was richly prepared. She glanced at Arto again and noted that he was waiting for her reply. Sarla bit her lip and lowered her eyes. "I am not hungry," she replied in a quiet tone. With practiced ease, she turned her head delicately in another direction. _The sight of you makes my stomach turn, Dhorn._

"That will not do." He replied, taking the golden fork in his hand and picking up a small slice of the roasted meat and gravy. He offered the fork to her then, saying "Face me. If you will not eat this yourself, then I will have someone feed you by force."

Sarla frowned, hesitated, and finally decided to turn to him. She shifted in her seat, staring at the food in front of her and slightly turning her head to face him. She scrutinized the meat that was held aloft by the golden fork. _It's impractical for him to kill me so soon after the wedding. No, he'll need to show me off to a lot more people before he can do that. _She inhaled the food's aroma discreetly. _And besides, it's been a while since I've eaten food like this. _

Slowly, she nodded and carefully took the fork from his hands. But he did not let go of his grip and guided the food to her mouth. "Good," he said, leaning back to his seat and slowly withdrawing the fork. "All you have to do is follow what I say. I only wish for the best for you after all," Arto then motioned at her attendants, standing a respectful distance away from them.

"The Princess should eat. Spoon-feed her, since she seems to prefer that method,"

Sarla raised her hands to stop them, "That's not necessary," she said.

Arto raised an eyebrow at her, "Do it."

"No!" she protested, but in a second she was surrounded by forks and spoons that offered all manner of food for her consumption. She looked at Arto, "You do not need to feed me like a pet, my lord," she said, trying to contain her rising anger.

"Ridiculous. This is how you should be treated. As the Crown Princess, and as my Wife." Arto said as he offered a slice of roast meat to her mouth.

Sarla's features hardened and became unreadable. She looked at the food offered and opened her mouth, allowing entry. She slowly chewed her food, and when she finished she turned her head and ate the others offered.

"Mistress, would you like some wine?" inquired one of her attendants. The voice was very familiar, of course, who else could it be but Pia? Sarla inclined her head and allowed a little space for her to pour some without acknowledging her. She'd almost forgotten about her presence as they went about the preparations for the wedding. Pia had seen to every detail, and rarely left her side. Hers was a good cover if only she could learn to resist her urges of talking too much.

"Thank you," Sarla answered coldly. She quietly sipped a little and tried to settle her stomach. It was starting to act up because of the disgust that she felt for her dear husband. She shook her head and downed a mouthful, hoping that the alcohol would give her the lightheadedness she needs to get through the night.

When she was about to bring the goblet to her lips again, she found Arto's hand on her arm, blocking her movements. "Before you drink yourself to your shame," he said as he stared at her with quiet intensity. "We should fulfill our obligation first."

"By obligation… what do you mean?" Sarla asked in a slightly alarmed voice. _I should have known he'd try to bed me already! I should play as the prude virgin. _Shelowered her goblet and followed it with her eyes. "Shouldn't we wait until we know each other a little better…?"

But Arto had already withdrawn from her. He caught the eye of the lead strings player in the music troupe and inclined his head. The musician replied with a deep bow and he turned to his companions and signaled the end of the chorus they have been playing. The acrobats that were dancing in front of them stopped their antics and went to the sides.

Arto turned back to her. "Come. It is imperative for those newly united in matrimony to share a dance on their first night," Arto stood up promptly while the fiddler began a solemn introductory prelude with long strokes of his bow.

"Dance?" Sarla asked as her eyes rested on his outstretched hand. She looked around the room and noticed that everyone else looked upon them expectantly. _Like hell am I going to touch you or let you touch me unnecessarily!_ She raged, but she tried to contain it. _I need an excuse._ "It has been awhile since I… I'm afraid I will just end up embarrassing you," she frowned, trying to look genuinely concerned. She turned her eyes back to Arto who steadily held her gaze.

"You will embarrass me more if you do not take my hand. Come. Don't make me wait any longer." He replied curtly, waiting for her to move.

_You won't let me talk my way out of this, will you?_ Sarla searched for an answer in his hard gaze._ Maybe I should start my vengeance by stepping on your toes as often as I can,_ Sarla then smiled sweetly at the thought and slowly raised her left hand and rested it on Arto's open palm.

His hands were hard and cold; it was as if she was holding a weapon that had the shape of a man's hand. Sarla closed her eyes and steeled herself while they walked to the middle of the room.

The musical troupe started a slow seductive tune, and a slow beat from the percussion accompanied the violin. Arto affixed his gaze on her, eyes as unreadable as ever "All you have to do is follow my lead," he said. "Raise your hand to meet mine, then we'll turn with our bodies circling around one another,"

Sarla regarded him with an expressionless face but otherwise followed what he said. She gazed directly at his eyes as they walked in a circle, stopping when they reached where the other has been standing only a few moments ago. They bowed to each other slowly and then he approached her, catching her hand and as she lowered them. With his solid grip, and with his other hand on her waist, he turned her around.

Then Arto still holding her waist, started to guide her in slow repetitive steps and covered a wide arc across the room. He held her extended right arm with his right and with his other hand, he held her waist. Sarla felt exposed, shivers running up her spine as he felt Arto's warm breath on her neck, his solid body just a few centimeters away from her.

As they moved about the room, Arto would turn Sarla in a circle away from him, always catching her as she completed her turn. He kept her at a modest distance, but it was still close that they could feel the other's breath and hear the other breathing. The dance progressed this way, the steps were simple and repetitive, and Arto whispered instructions to her. Soon, Sarla could feel warmth rushing up to her cheeks and every note that the violin played seemed to reverberate in her body.

She relaxed and closed her eyes as Arto held her by her waist and her extended arms and they glided across the room once again. _He holds my hands so delicately, as if he was handling glass_. _How can he be so gentle despite all the violence he has done and what he is still capable of doing?_ She felt him turn her again and she opened her eyes when he caught her and saw that their faces were only inches apart this time. She could feel his warm breath on her chest and the intensity of his blue gaze was overpowering.

_What do you want from me Arto?_ She asked as silently she stared at him. Sarla parted her lips to say something, but only her ragged breath came out. _Do you want me?_ She thought as she gazed in to his eyes. Though the color of chill never left his eyes, they seemed to burn now with the quiet intensity of desire.

Arto leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against hers. Then he spoke, his voice clear and sharp, "That was the last part," he said, "One last turn and then we bow," Then he abruptly pulled himself away from her and gave her a final turn.

Sarla covered the turn in a wide arc, her red dress billowing out around her lower portion. When she stopped, the still point of her turning world was Arto. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a small smile on his face. Could her eyes have been playing tricks on her?

They faced each other. As they turned, Sarla impulsively raised her hands and gently touched his cheek, then circled in place and prepared to give a bow to the audience. Arto grasped her hand, a little bit more tightly now. After a brief glance at each other, they turned and bowed to the audience at the same time.

The crowd that was watching them gave a hearty applause. "Graceful, quite graceful!" commented Lord Greenfork. "Such excellent dancing! Why, I felt like I was back at the Rosethorn Court and I was seeing the Empress herself dance when she was younger…" said his wife. She droned on, but thankfully the troupe began to play a livelier tune and it overtook the rest of the words being exchanged in honor of their performance. After a brief time, the rest of the nobles seemed to take their cue and started to dance.

Arto led her back to their table as the people crowded to the dance area. He pulled Sarla's chair out and pushed it forward as she sat down.

Sarla pasted a smile to everyone who praised them but it quickly dropped as she settled down on her chair. Her stomach had been playing up and the last twirl in the dance did not help. She felt the full intensity of it now that she was settled and not moving. She pressed her hands against her lips, fighting off the urge to throw up.

King Stormborn approached the table then and pulled up a chair to sit down next to her. "That was a beautiful dance, my daughter. I think it bodes well for the rest of your marriage."

_Oh gods, could he have picked a worse time to start?_ Sarla thought as she eyed him with open disdain.

"Are you alright?" King Stormborn said as she noted her discomfort.

"I… I think…" Sarla tried to say as she felt another urge come. _Uuuh, what am I holding it back for?_ She finally relented her control over her stomach and started emptying it without even turning away. She retched with all the fury she could muster right into the poor actor's lap.

"Oh… I'm… _terribly_ _sorry_ Father," Sarla said as she wiped her mouth and recoiled back, hiding her smirk as she checked to see if she got any on her dress.

"It's… it's alright, my dear, you should have said that you were feeling ill," he said with difficulty as he wiped his hands on the table cloth.

"That's enough," Arto said as he stood in his chair and gently pulled Sarla up on to her feet.

_But I'm just getting started! _Sarla thought as she felt the involuntary shudders intensify and grip her once again. When the King shifted to inspect the damage, Sarla got her second wind and started retching anew.

Arto held her steadily by the waist as she emptied her stomach. When Sarla pulled her head up again she felt dizzy and looked at Arto through unfocused eyes. _I should have thrown up on him_, she thought as Arto called her attendants and ordered them to take her to their chambers.

--

Sarla was led to the chamber at the end of the hall. They had wiped away most of what churned out of her stomach with a silken handkerchief, but she could still smell the acid and the partly digested food that clung to her clothes. No matter. She's survived the smell of the sewers of Betancuria before, and came up smelling like it as well. This was nothing.

They opened the door to the room and sat her down to the white-sheets of the bed. They started fussing again over her; wiping her forehead with a cold towel as they started unlacing her corsets. Strangely, after she had emptied the contents of her stomach, she immediately felt better and fit again.

She heard the heavy booted steps of Arto as he entered the room. He removed his gauntlets and threw them to the floor. "Leave us," he said to her attendants. He started unclasping his armor. "And don't come back until morning. And you…" he said, looking at Sarla. "Come here."

Her attendants bowed and quickly left the room. Sarla slowly sat up and made her way to him. She was careful to keep her eyes on his as Arto continued to undress as she approached.

When she was finally within arm's reach, Arto raised his other hand and slowly lifted her chin. Then his eyes trailed down her exposed neck the upper part of her bodice that the partly undone corsets had bared. Arto frowned as he presumably found traces of her undigested meal. "You're filthy." He said, matter of factly.

_Why, thank you, I try._ Sarla thought as she bit her lip. _I might as well play with him for a little bit._ "And what is my lord going to do about it?" She looked up at him with amber eyes that reflected the candle light in the room.

Arto frowned and grabbed her arm. Sarla winced and closed her eyes, anticipating a stinging slap. It never came; instead, he whirled her around and continued unlacing her corset. He did it deftly and it fell in no time. She breathed a sigh of relief as the damn thing came off but gave an involuntary squeak of alarm when both his cold hands were on her shoulders and peeled her clothing off in one smooth motion.

He continued undressing until his chainmail fell and the clink of metal resounded in the room. For a moment, neither of them moved.

_And so it starts_, she thought as she heard and felt his soft breath against her skin in the silence of the room.

Sarla turned around.

_End Chapter 1_

_Special Thanks__ to __**Tawni**__ for beta reading! _


	3. The String of Matrimony

**Chapter 2:  
The String of Matrimony**

Arto's gaze wandered, his eyes trailing around her body. Sarla lowered her eyes slowly to view him as well but before she got far, he grabbed her arm and pulled her to the corner of the room.

Behind the woodwork partition was a large tub full of water. He sat her down the water, but remained outside the tub, sitting behind her in its elevated corners. He gathered her hair into a lump, and after what seemed like a short caress to her neck he bound the strands within itself with practiced ease.

"Hold still." He said as he took a pitcher from the ground and started to pour warm water into it.

_Oh gods,_ Sarla thought as she shifted to prevent her skin from coming into contact directly with the water. _I'm filthy so he cleans me up. There's a certain irony here, somewhere. _

He stopped emptying the pitcher and dipped his hand in the water to check its temperature. When he was done, he reached for the soap and washcloth and started scrubbing her skin. He went to work on her shoulders first.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a hesitant voice.

"Is it that hard to figure out?" he answered in a flat tone.

Sarla bit back a stinging reply. _A lady is not supposed to lose her temper,_ she reminded herself. "No, what do you _think_ you're doing?"

"Do you _think_ it is your place to question my actions?" He answered in an irritated tone, scrubbing her arms with renewed vigor.

"That's not what I meant," she said as she pulled her arms away from his grasp, soothing her raw skin.

"Then what is it?" He asked impatiently, making no effort to hide the irritation in his voice.

She should say something to calm him. "You are my husband now… I'm trying to get used to your presence in my life." She had observed something similar to this situation before: this was how she used to care for her favorite mare at the stables. The meticulousness with which Arto treated every exposed patch of flesh, getting rid of dirt and old skin on her body was just like that. He was thorough, scrubbing a little too hard, but staying gentle and at the same time, detached. Why, she wouldn't have been surprised if at this point, he undid her hair and started looking for lice.

"Look I…" Sarla broke off as she felt something press into her back. Arto leaned over her to reach for something on the other side of the tub. The blush that crept into her cheek did not need to be feigned. "…I barely know you," she whispered in a hushed tone. _Oh gods, that was… huge._

Arto sat back down and was silent for a while. He resumed to scrubbing her back with surprising gentleness. "That was never a requirement for marriage," he replied.

_What?_ She frowned. _Oh, my dear husband speaks of marriage._ She looked at his hands as they lifted her left arm and started scrubbing them. He seemed normal like this, not at all like the officer who chased her from Betancuria, to the depths of the Underdark, to the Dhorn Empire, and in the end, even making a deal with an Archdevil to ensnare her.

_How will I get closer to him?_ she thought. _If love or at the very least, a vague inclination or familiarity is not the requirement for marriage…_ The silence between them remained unbroken save for the splashes of water.

"…then what is?" she uttered the last part of her question out loud. Sarla shivered, partly from the direction of her train of thought and partly from the situation that she now found herself in.

Arto stopped his movements. He grasped her shoulders and turned her around with ease and eyed her coldly. Sarla moved away from him, wary of what he would do next. He parted his lips as if to say something, but closed them again and instead threw the wash cloth to her.

She caught it before it hit the water. She decided to gamble a guess as to what he was thinking. "I… suppose you think these thoughts are irrelevant at the moment," she said in a delicate tone as she lowered her eyes and started scrubbing her chest.

"Yes, but you can't help it can you?" Arto said as he placed his feet inside the tub and sat down in front of her (and she finally had the chance to confirm her earlier assessment). "I, on the other hand, simply have more important things to think about," he said dismissively.

_Um, how will that thing ever fit in? No, focus, Sarla! Listen to what he's saying! He's full of himself. And that's good; it's always a fatal weakness in a man._ They faced each other in the tub, Sarla maintained her gaze on him as he went about his own ministrations.

She watched him scrub his muscled features with the same rigor that he had tended to her. Her eyes played across his form, imagining the endless ways of killing him. Her morbid thoughts settled her stomach and mind, and soon she was done washing. She was slightly pleased with herself for thinking up many different varieties of exactly how to kill him.

Then Arto broke her out of her daze. "Stand up," he commanded.

Sarla frowned at his demand. She turned around and stood up with her back to him, attempting to hide her annoyance. She wondered vaguely what he would do and looked for something she could use to fulfill one of her earlier fantasies. Maybe she'd zap him where he stood. But lightning was out of the question, since they were both immersed in water. Perhaps a quick snap of his neck?

Then she felt warm, pleasant water flow down her shoulders in a final rinse from a pitcher he was holding. Arto's hands let go of the wash cloth and touched her bare skin, trailing the water across her body. Her breathing came faster. His hands still felt cold and hard despite the water's warmth.

Arto suddenly stopped and she heard him do the same to his body. He went out of the tub, trailing water across the wooden boards of the floor. Cloth rustled as he reached for towels and came back to where she was. He stood quietly for a while, then he spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice; "Try to stay clean this time."

Sarla's head turned to the side, as if verifying whether what she heard was real, and it did come from him. "I… I will try."

"Good. Now dry yourself up." She felt a towel envelop her and heard Arto step back.

Sarla stood still for a moment, wondering if that was it, he was really done. She started to hear the rustling of clothes and dared a side glance in his direction.

She saw him towel his body off quickly and put on his undertrews, his breeches, and finally his tunic. Then, without so much a glance in her direction, he turned and left the room.

Sarla was left standing in the tub. Her hands shook slightly as she clenched the towel in a fist and pulled it closer around her body.

--

The sun was rising. Sarla stood leaning against the rail of a boat that was pulling out of Greenfork Isle. She was told earlier about their upcoming journey to the capital while they dressed her. Her attendant's choice of cloth and stitch for her were not so bad; it was pure white, the upper material halted just above her breasts. It did not have a corset; a minor victory considering the fashion of the Dhorn Court. Pia had given her discreet glances of concern and a lingering touch every now and then to call her attention but she ignored her. They were still within earshot of the others after all.

It would take them a day to get to their destination. Maybe she should sleep away the days' duration. Or maybe she should try to spy on what Arto was doing. But she couldn't roam freely on the boat, and she did not know where he was. She leaned her elbow over the railing and caught her face with her wrist. She had to hand it to him. He was planning some scheme, she knew, and his little act last night made her restless and unable to sleep. He did not even return to their chamber to consummate their union.

Well, whatever his game was, it was sure to be dangerous. He moved unpredictably and she had difficulty reading what he was thinking. It did not bode well. She mulled over his contradictions; she thought he desired her, she felt this, well, not really felt it, but she sensed it when they danced. And yet, after seeing her in her full naked state, even touching her when they bathed, he did not even get excited. How couldshe ever hope to establish influence on him when he was not interested in her charms? Even then, did she really want to use that method, considering the size of his package?

She trailed her eyes over the horizon they were leaving behind. She stared at the western sky, away from the sun and looked at how dawn's light awakened the forest. She could make out the two towers of Greenfork Castle distinctly, grey against the surrounding green. Farther from that, perhaps on the other side of the island, dark clouds were accumulating. Every now and then there were flashes that brightened the dull gray of the clouds. The lightning strike was abrupt and imprecise, tearing the sky as it made its path down to the earth, like the tearing of a cloth from a woman's body.

She closed her eyes and frowned. _No. Don't go there_, she thought to herself. When she opened her eyes, she noticed her husband at her side. He was looking at her with an expression that was hard to read, meeting her gaze levelly and holding it with a calm intensity that forced her to look away.

_That gaze again, appraising me._ _Cold and detached, like I'm just some merchandise on the street. _She gave a soft sigh._ I'll play his game… for now._ Sarla lowered her eyes and toyed with her skirt.

"Where were you at breakfast?" She asked the first thing that came to her mind.

"Here," he answered in a toneless voice.

_Hm, at least he answers. And we can assume he's honest._ "And where is my father?"

"Back at the island," he said as he turned around and leaned on the railing.

_Oh, good. _She almost smiled but frowned instead. "Am I not going to see him before we leave?" she asked with sadness and disappointment in her voice.

Arto looked at her with open disdain. "You are not a child anymore. Don't fret over trifle things."

Sarla stifled a scoff and pretended to be clearing her throat. After she regained her composure, she carefully replied "You are right of course, but I would think that he would take time to… to…," Sarla paused for effect. "Say goodbye at least, one last time?"

Arto frowned and lifted his left hand. A soldier went over his side and whispered something in his ear.

Sarla only caught the words "fatal" and "disposed of", in their conversation.

Arto turned back at her "He already said his goodbyes to you at the banquet. I'm told he ate too much and is currently indisposed to the occasion."

She was sure that that was not what the soldier said. She turned around and leaned against the railing, her features obviously upset. But whatever, as long as he stayed away, she would have one less thing to worry about.

She noticed that the Dhorn soldiers had come out of their cabins and were pacing back and forth on the deck like red insects working on wood. She could hear the clink-clink of their armor as they went past her below, and in more than one instance, they looked up to observe her.

"So where were you last night?" she said after a pause.

Arto closed the distance between them and leaned close to her, his mouth almost touching her ear. "I warn you: too many questions annoy me. And you do not want to see me annoyed."

Sarla's eyes narrowed. _And those that annoyed me never lived to tell the tale, so know your place, Dhorn! _She raised her chin and squared her shoulders. "Your words, my lord, come across as a threat. Are those the words that should come out of my husband's mouth?"

Had she turned to look at him, she would have seen Arto's lips curve up in a smile. "Get used to it, my _dear_ wife," he said in a voice that had reclaimed its stiff evenness. "You will hear many more in the days to come."

Sarla did turn to look at him then, but he had already stepped back, turned around and walked down the stairs without even glancing at her.

Sarla watched his retreating back with a frown and shook her head. She walked to the seating prepared for her at one corner of the stern. She sat down and hiked up her dress. With a gesture, she called for Pia among the other attendants that stood at a respectful distance away.

She asked her to massage her feet. They were sufficiently detached from the rest of her retinue to start a conversation so Pia spoke first.

"How are you feeling?" Pia asked her in hushed tones, careful to make sure they weren't heard as she traced circles on Sarla's feet with her palm.

"Slightly annoyed," she said as she brushed a strand of her hair away from her face. "And very tired," she added as she stifled a yawn. "I didn't sleep so well last night, and…"

"Arto?"

"Yes… but it's not what you think. He didn't touch me,"

"Really? Be careful, Princess. You know we're all worried about you."

Sarla shifted her foot out of Pia's grasp with a slight frown, "He's being an asshole. Playing mind games and what not. But I can handle myself. I've faced worse before," she declared. Pia responded by pressing a spot in the middle of her foot. _Mmm.. that feels really good._

"That's right," Pia said with a sigh . She removed Sarla's other shoe and started to work on the uncovered foot. "Just remember, everything hangs around you. Should you die, it all falls apart."

_Ah, she's really good at this_. Sarla thought as she felt herself relax and release her wall. "Yes…" Sarla said as her eyes slowly started to fall. "The ties that bind me are also what hold me up. I… will never be…."

_Free… _

--

When Sarla opened her eyes, it was already late afternoon. The boat has slowed in its motions and the crew was working on a frenzied pace to prepare everything for docking.

Sarla sat up and noticed Arto's blond head appear from the top of the stairs and continue to rise as he ascended. He approached her, his intense gaze eventually forcing her to look away as he reached her side.

Sarla stood as he did so, rumpled clothing and all.

Arto frowned and swiftly draped the red velvet cloak he was holding around her. The red brought out the orange color of her hair and Arto surprised her again by tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers tracing its round curve.

It was done as quickly as it happened. "Come," he said as he turned and led the way off the boat.

Sarla frowned again, retucking the strands of her hair and following after his footsteps. When she was close to the railing, she saw that the soldiers on deck had assembled and an even larger retinue was standing at attention on the docks.

Sarla gripped the banister tightly, fighting off the urge to cast evocation spells and incinerate the soldiers where they stood. _One meteor swarm, that's all it would take. _She thought as she paused and assessed just where she had to direct the meteors to maximize its lethal damage. _Ohh, I need to cool my head, _Sarla thought. Her wish was granted when a strong western wind blew through, causing her white dress under her red cape to fly away and bare the lower parts of her legs.

A soldier on the boat dropped the halberd he held and it clattered to the ground noisily. This prompted Arto to stop and, noticing the trailing the gaze of the soldiers, turned her head sharply back to Sarla.

Sarla swiftly reached down and steadied her skirt. _No show for you, dear husband. Not after last night, _she thought as she continued descending the stairs. She walked up to him and pulled her cloak more tightly around herself.

Arto's jaws clenched and unclenched. He said nothing but stared at her for a good minute before he walked ahead. He turned to the officers gathered on the boat and barked something about discipline and reinforcing it by reminding them just how difficult a hungry man's life is**. **

_The jealous type... _A small smile appeared on the edge of her lips as she listened to his commands to the soldiers. _Another weakness._ Her eyes drifted to the narrow plank that connected the boat to the harbor on her side. She noted that its width only allowed for one person to cross at any one time. They led to the docks, where the steel-reinforced boots of the Dhorn soldiers stood as they waited for them to alight.

She wanted to look up at the soldiers and count just exactly how many there were, but she fought the urge to do so. _It wouldn't be proper,_ she chided herself. They prefer their women cowed and submissive; to behave otherwise would attract unwanted attention. The wind decided to blow from the northern reaches then, and Sarla frowned thinking about what the wind would to her skirt when she crossed the plank.

_Well I guess they'll see some skin again, the poor deprived souls, s_he thought. Arto had just finished speaking to the others then, and she took that as her cue to step up to the plank and begin to cross the distance.

As she was about to place her first foot on the wood, she was surprised by a firm hand hold her waist. She turned her head and saw that Arto had decided to cross with her, holding their bodies close together as they did so. They walked through, one step at a time, Sarla mostly leaning on Arto, while he held her tightly, his large physique protecting her from the wind.

It was over as soon as it started, and Arto let go of her as soon as they stepped onto the cobbled stones of the docks. He immediately turned to his aide and hissed. "Next time, make sure that the way is wide enough for at least two people. I will deal with you later,"

The aide looked terrified and apologized repeatedly.

Arto immediately turned to meet an older Dhorn soldier who commanded the troops gathered to greet them.

"Ah, Commander Benthur, welcome back to your home," said the soldier as he approached.

"Thank you General Bastienne," Arto said as he gave a courteous bow. "You are too kind to meet us upon our arrival."

Sarla dared to glance up then, and studied the face of the gray-haired general as he gave Arto a friendly slap on the back and quickly scanned the soldiers behind him. She was right; their eyes were rapt at attention and were fixed on her. There were about fifty soldiers in formation, the silver of their halberds glinting in contrast to the overcast sky. She also noted that a crowd of sorts had gathered to look on as well composed of nobility and peasants alike.

Sarla struggled to appear outwardly calm as she lowered her eyes and remained perfectly still, just as she was trained. She thought about casting another evocation spell. _Maybe this time, a chain lightning would do the trick_.

"So this is your bride then?" the General commented, and Sarla's attention returned to them.

"Yes. May I present Betancuria's Crown Princess, Sarla Lyanna Stormborn," Arto said a little bit too loudly for her tastes. Sarla curtsied and inclined her head gracefully.

"Your Royal Highness, you grace us with your presence. The rumors about your beauty do you no justice. I am honored to be the one to welcome you to Rosethorn, Capital City of the Dhorn Empire," the General said, his eyes smiling as he bowed to her. "I am General Henry Bastienne, at your service."

"Thank you for your warm welcome, General," she said as she offered her hand to him and he kissed it. "I'm afraid that you have the advantage over me since I am not familiar with your society or those within it."

"Well, that is something that we will address in time," Then he gestured to his side and a young soldier with brown hair and vibrant ocean-blue eyes stepped forward and bowed. "Let's start here. I'd like to introduce my son, Herv Bastienne. I believe we're all going to be one family soon,"

_How odd. He really is too nice to be a Dhorn soldier. _Sarla formed an inquiring expression on her face.

Arto interjected "Herv is engaged to my daughter,"

_What? Just how old are you then?!_ Sarla thought as she suppressed the look of confusion that threatened to take over her features. "O-oh, the family is certainly expanding," she commented lightly. _His son seems to be older than I am!_ "A pleasure to meet you, my future son-in-law," Sarla looked at Herv who returned her gaze with an amused smile and a nod.

"The pleasure is all mine Princess," he answered as he bowed and kissed her hand. His fingers gave hers a short caress before he let go and straightened up once again.

Arto turned his head to the General, a tiny frown creasing his forehead. "I'd like to thank you again for meeting us, General Bastienne. I would like to catch up with the events here in the Capital but I'm afraid my bride and I need time to settle down first," he said curtly. He took Sarla's hand and held it tightly.

"We would be honored if you could visit us another time," Sarla added. She cast a wary glance at Arto and expected a rebuttal, but none came. _If he does not resist then this General must be his superior,_ she thought.

"It will be our pleasure. _Anything_ _for an Ascivan_," General Bastienne replied. He turned to his soldiers and ordered them to salute the couple as they passed them on the way to the waiting carriage.

_What?_ Sarla looked back at him in confusion as Arto half-dragged her away. _Wait, how did… how did he know? _She glanced back at him again before she entered the carriage. His bright smile was gone, he simply looked at them with the seriousness and rigidity of a soldier guarding his liege.

_The Ascivan Imperial line…_

…_Mother's House._

_End Chapter 2_

_Much love goes to __**Tawni**__ for beta reading again! This chapter undergone quite an improvement before it got to its present state. _


	4. The String of Proximity

**Chapter 3: **

**The String of Proximity**

The cover of the night fell and strange men who walked on stilts wandered across the street, holding a torch to light the lamp posts on the sidewalk.

Sarla sat looking pensively out of the carriage window as they made their way into the city, traversing yet another cobbled road. She looked at the men in mild curiosity but resumed staring elsewhere.

The ride was mostly spent in silence as she tried to keep her mind off more complex thoughts. Instead, she tried memorize the turns and general direction of where they were heading. From the boat, she could already see that Rosethorn was a metropolis that had grown around a white complex of structures in the upper reaches of a large hill. There were towering white walls built in concentric circles that emanated from the center, dividing the city into different wards.

She sighed as she gave up keeping count (they were well past 40 different turns now) and stuck to identifying landmarks in the street. _Better leave the exact scouting of the city layout to the Family_, she thought. Her eyes flicked to the man in front of her.

Arto sat across from her with his eyes closed, giving her the perfect opportunity to study his full face in the muted bluish light that filtered inside the carriage. She noticed the features of his face that she missed before: his cheekbones were high, as was the bridge of his nose, giving him an almost haughty appearance which was sometimes amplified by his deep-set eyes. His eyelashes were long but hard to see against his pale skin, his eyebrows were well-defined and he had the tell-tale signs of frowns or deep thoughts that left their mark on his forehead. There were no laugh lines around his eyes.

_He's a stubborn, persistent and troubled man._ Sarla thought._ There are so many things I want to ask._ She tried conversing with him in her mind then. _For example: How old are you? Why were you sent to Betancuria? Why did you pursue and marry me? Do you prefer a slow and painful death? And… how do I make you love me?_

Arto opened his eyes to look at her and startled her into almost panicking. "What is it this time?" he asked, looking at her with impatience.

She turned her head to her side to hide her confusion. _This man has an uncanny ability to sense when I am thinking something inappropriate. Can he read my thoughts? Some sort of enchantment perhaps? Impossible, I should be able to sense it. _She shifted uncomfortably in her seat._ Getting to know his weaknesses would be very hard. Ah, fine, let's get back to scouting the city then._

"When will you take me out? I would like to see the city," she said as her fingers lifted the laces that covered the windows in the carriage.

"It is not safe, especially for a woman of your stature," She heard Arto's clothes rustle as he shifted in his seat "And don't even think about sneaking out, I have guards watching you day and night. If you so much as sneeze, I would know of it."

That annoyed her and she did not bother to hide it. "Are you sure you wanted a wife and not a caged bird?" Sarla muttered under her breath.

"I will give you leave to stretch your wings," Arto replied, with an unreadable expression on his face. "But only on the stage I approve of, only in the company of those worthy enough to see."

Sarla glanced at him, surprised that he was not baited by her comment. She dared to stretch it further. "You mean you'll only show me off to your friends?"

"Did you expect anything less?"

"I'm just an object to you," she declared in careful tones.

"That should be no surprise," he said in that cold tone of his. "Weren't you trained to perfect the art of appearances? You are used to living a life where everyone watches you. You demand attention so naturally, you don't even realize it anymore."Arto turned his blue, almost translucent eyes to her then. "This is why you are my wife."

"Like a feather in your hat," she finished, betraying no emotion. _Someone to grab attention and direct it to him, that's how he sees me. A trophy._

"No. That's not true," he replied quickly.

"It's not?" she looked at him confused.

"I never wear hats," he said dismissively.

Sarla closed her eyes to suppress the urge to roll them. _Well, at least the metaphor has improved. I'm no longer a brood mare but a bird. He's just messing with my head. _

_But I can't give up just yet. _"Arto…" she started.

"I tire of this. If what you are going to say will do nothing to improve the silence, then I suggest you hold your tongue,"

…_a long winded reply to saying 'just shut up'. Do you think __**I**__ like talking to __**you**__, you bastard?_ Sarla thought. _Argh! I'm playing a role here! How would a lady react?_ She thought quickly. "…you are cruel. I would have expected a bit more civility from my husband," she said as she lowered her eyes.

"Did you not hear what I just said?" he said with unmasked annoyance.

_Sarla, let it pass…let it pass, _she thought to herself._ Like hell am I going to let it pass! I can only take so much crap from this man!_ "And what would you have me do?!" she exclaimed. "Your words wound me, but would you rather that I not talk to you at all?"

To her surprise, Arto's eyes lit up in amusement. "I have no use for your honeyed words, Sarla. But if you feel confident enough to engage me in an intelligent discussion about topics I'm interested in, then go ahead and prattle on. Otherwise, I don't want to hear a thing from you." His last sentence ended with the sound of a threat.

Sarla looked at him, her amber eyes turning golden in the pale light._ So. You're trying to get through to me. And to do that, you have decided to make our married life a living hell. Your logic baffles me._

She closed her eyes and settled herself, directing her thoughts elsewhere. Rosethorn was certainly a large city if it is taking so long to travel from the docks to her new prison. She drifted off into a fitful and dreamless nap that she jerked awake from when she noticed the movement of the carriage halt and the horses whinny.

The carriage creaked and moved as the footman alighted and opened the door. Arto rose from his seat and left the carriage first. Sarla rose and descended from the carriage. She let her eyes wander around the neighborhood and burned the surroundings into her memory.

In the dim light of the lamp post she could barely make out the intricate carvings and stonework that marked each house distinctively from one another. They seemed to be in the noble quarter of the city where high walls and even higher stone manors were erected. She was reminded of the Isle of Men back in Betancuria, only this time, she was no longer visiting a prospective fiancé, but was actually going in as someone's wife.

They stopped in front of a corner house in the neighborhood. The steel gates in front guarded what was undoubtedly the largest manor in the street, easily double in size compared to the other ones. Sarla raised her eyebrow. Beyond the white-washed walls were tall leafless trees that loomed ominously in the dark. Light danced from some of the windows on the second floor giving the impression that the manor was alive from the inside, the light burning with an anticipation that seemed to almost reach out to touch her.

She turned her eyes toward the servants who were rushing to open the gates and then to form a line on either side of the path. Arto started walking past them while Sarla observed her surroundings one last time. She looked back to the road they just came from and noticed the pavement dip down and the light of the lamp posts trail and multiply, blending with the other fires alight in the other city wards below. A little further beyond that, below the dark sky, was an even darker sea they had just traversed.

She felt a hand touch her as her attendants called back her attention. She looked forward and saw Arto's impatient glare as she regained her composure and followed him.

Sarla quickly scanned the servants on either side and, when finding no familiar face, turned to observe the façade of the house. From places where light streamed from inside, she could see that the blocks of stone glittered like sand in the moonlight. This type of building would be easy to scale; the rough surface and the spaces in between the stone bricks would allow for a good footing should she decide to play scout later on.

As they neared the front door of the manor, she noticed the intricate stone carvings of two demonic gargoyle-like creatures situated at the base of the steps. Sarla felt a magical hum from their direction and deduced that these statues were magical in nature and may actually have been guardians. Oddly enough, she could feel that they were no threat to her. She briefly wondered if the others were aware of them or of how they could be brought out of their dormant state.

As Sarla placed her first foot at the base of the steps, she felt herself enter an arcane, or was it divine, sphere of energy. _A magical aura,_ she thought uneasily. It was a strange one, to be sure. Those unfamiliar to the ways of the arcane would not have felt it. It seemed faint and otherworldly. She paused, trying to discern the source.

On an impulse, she looked up to one of the side windows of the manor and saw a pale face pressed against the window sill looking down on her. It was a woman; she could tell as much from the way the fire in the room outlined her golden hair, while the soft edges of her face were partially illuminated by the moonlight. She frowned as she tried to discern the features in the woman's face. The woman's lips curled up in a familiar smile and a strange sense of sadness crept into her heart. It was quickly replaced by a feeling of dread when she realized that the face was her own.

Her thoughts were interrupted when an elderly lady with gray hair clad in more elaborate house robes came out of the door and spoke. "We rejoice the arrival of the Master of the House," she said with a dignified air. Then, turning to Sarla, she gave another bow and said "We also welcome the arrival of its new Mistress."

Sarla managed a confused nod in response to her greeting then glanced up the window again. But the woman was gone. What she had seen could have been an apparition of beings long forgotten or a premonition of things soon to come.

Which of these should she be more wary of, she was not sure.

--

Upon entering the house, Arto removed his cloak and immediately headed up the stairs. Sarla followed the sound of his footsteps, past the second floor where the room with the apparition was. Sarla turned a longing look down the corridor before ascending the stairs again, vowing to explore the hallways and their rooms at a later time.

At the landing of the third flight of stairs, Arto stood waiting for her. Sarla glanced at him, with a tired and exasperated expression on her face. He pointed to a door at the end of the hallway to the right and told her, "That's your room."

"So we are not sharing a room." She glanced at the direction he pointed and replied, more a statement than a question.

"No. I am a very private person." He started to turn walk toward the other hallway on the opposite side when he stopped and turned back to her. "Let me make myself clear: your status as my wife does not give you special privileges in disturbing me. Is that understood?"

_He's making things difficult again._ She met his gaze and answered in a calm voice. "I will make myself clear as well." She paused as she regarded him in the light of the lamps on the floor, "Since you obviously treat me with disdain, it's only proper that I afford you with the same respect you have showed thus far. I will stay out of your life and expect you to do the same."

Before he could reply, she lowered her eyes and gave a small curtsy before heading to her own room. She did not turn back to look at him as she entered and closed the door.

Sarla frowned and removed her cloak, then threw it to the ground. She really couldn't predict what he was thinking. If she was right, this meant that he did not intend to sleep with her tonight. And that their marriage was going to remain 'chaste' for a little while longer.

The door opened slowly and she turned around, ready to launch a verbal attack on him when she saw that it was only Pia. She approached Sarla and wordlessly handed a note to her as she spoke. "My lady, is the room to your liking? Will you need anything else?" she inquired, keeping her head bowed and the door slightly open. She gave a few side glances to the door, indicating that they could be heard in the hall way.

Sarla eyed the crack in the door. Pia had left it open wide enough so that they could hear what she said, but not see her. She opened the note. _Ask to send up for some food and water._ _Wait by the window._

"Yes. Could you bring up some of the food and water? I'm terribly hungry," she said as she crumpled the note in her hand.

"As you wish," Pia bowed and turned to the others outside to relay her command, closing the door behind her.

Sarla made her way to the window and opened it a crack. Still holding the note, she cast a cantrip that caused her hands to catch fire and watched the note go up into flames. Then she blew the ashes out of the window.

"Easy," a voice said from the opened window. "Any closer and you would've singed me." A shock of white hair appeared over skin as dark as night and eyes that glowed reddish violet studied her from the window.

Sarla sat down by the window sill and looked impassively at the new sight. "Huh, I guess you've been waiting all this time." She opened the window with her right hand as she raised her legs before the windows, resting them on the other side of the window sill. "Well, what's the password?" she asked raising her eyebrows.

The dark elf looked at her with eyes lit with amusement or malevolence, it was hard to tell which. He raised himself to his full height, his waist up to the window sill. "The little slave is going to get it?" he said.

"Wrong," Sarla said as she crossed her arms across her chest and maintained her position.

"Is that so? Let me try again. The little slave is _not_ going to get it if she doesn't stop playing her games."

"Oh you're no fun," Sarla said as she lowered her legs. She started to ease out of her sitting position when she noticed that Rizzen had not moved. "Are you not going in?"

"No. You're the one who's getting out. Come on."

Sarla smiled. So she was going to get some action before bedtime after all. In a minute, she was standing on the narrow ridge beside him. She shivered as the early winter wind blew its way across her body that was only clad in the white robes given to her earlier. "Where to?" she asked as she tried to keep her teeth from chattering.

"Up," Rizzen replied. Then he started pawing the wall, using the frame of the windows first as leverage for his feet then toeing the crevices between bricks to support his weight. Sarla followed suit, thanking her ancestors for her small feet. She didn't dare look down. If she fell she knew that broken bones would be the least of her problems.

In a few seconds, Rizzen cleared the wall and extended a hand to help her up the slanted surface of the roof. As she stood, he started waving a ring he was wearing all around her body.

"What are you doing?" Sarla asked, curiously following his motions with her eyes.

"Nothing you should be worried about," He finished waving the thing around and then made a derisive bow. "You know it would have been hard for you to sneak out by yourself."

"Why? I'm a sneaky girl," she replied.

"Yes, but your sneaking will only go so far. Not without this." Rizzen said as he took a folded piece of dried leather from his chest pocket and handed it to her. "Also…" he sighed. "It won't be long until your absence is noticed."

Sarla opened its folds. "What's this?" she asked, turning over both sides. "It's blank."

"It's a druidic teleportation scroll." Rizzen said, exasperated. "Just press it to the nearest tree and you'll be teleported to our meeting place. Courtesy of a new addition to the family who's a druid,"

"Anden actually has friends?" Sarla asked as she turned the leather over for inspection one last time. She could sense a faint magical aura from it; just a bit different from the arcane that she was used to.

"Who knew," he said dryly. "Now, if we get caught, just pretend that I'm kidnapping you, and not the other way around."

"Sharp sense of humor as always, Rizzen," Sarla said as she rolled her eyes and followed him to the edge of the roof where a dark tree outline was. "Now then, do we actually have to hug a trunk or would touching this branch do?"

"It'll do. Now go on, touch the branch with your pinky finger, or whatever it is you surface dwellers do with branches on top of roofs," he said as he stepped back from her and headed toward the edge of the roof once more.

"Aren't you coming?" Sarla asked as she held out the hand with the leather to the branch above her.

"Someone has to cover for your absence after all."

"Pray that Arto does not coming knocking in the middle of the night." She said as she touched the branch of the tree and vanished.

_Don't even suggest that._ Rizzen grimaced as he turned around and climbed through the window and into Sarla's bedroom without pausing for breath. "Might as well get this over with," he said as he lifted his hands and turned the mechanism on his new ring. He was immediately surrounded in a flash of white.

When Sarla's attendants returned to her room, they noticed their mistress by the window fanning herself in a very unladylike posture. She regarded them lazily and then resumed staring out the window as if it were the most interesting in the world. Then her eyes went back to the food they set down on a small table that they brought close to her.

_Oh great, food._ He regarded the spread of gastronomical delights set in front of him. _So I'm supposed to eat now?_ _Gods, the torture of the handmaidens of Lolth was almost preferable to what the surface dwellers do in their spare time,_ he thought as he reached out for whatever it is his hands could grasp from the platter. He popped a soft, round, sweet-smelling thing in his mouth.

_Well, almost._

_End Chapter 3_

_I will never get tired of saying Thank You __**Tawni**__! ^_^_


	5. The String of Family

**Chapter 4:**

**The String of Family**

Sarla found herself teleported to a badly deforested area. Stumps of trees remained; their large girth the only clue to the majesty that should have once dominated the surroundings. A campfire was blazing a little further ahead in a clearing, and around it congregated the faces of the only family she had left. She came forward and headed to the side of the one who had seen her through it all.

"Sarla. Finally." Nathan said as she came to the light.

"Master Nathan." She greeted him with an incline of her head. She looked around the campfire and saw the changed but familiar faces of the rogues she knew so well.

Chella came to her and hugged her. "Oh, I was so worried about you. Have you been taking care of yourself?" she said as she maintained her hold on her.

"Yes, Chella. Thank you for your concern." Sarla said as she waited for the female to calm down.

"He didn't hurt you or anything?" she asked.

"No, and you don't have to worry. I would never let him hurt me,"

"Good," she said as she continued to hold on to her.

"Stave off your catching up for later. We have work to do," Nathan cut in and Chella went back to her place. "First, I'd like to familiarize you with the scheme that we made to organize ourselves." Nathan commanded Sarla's full attention. "We have two main objectives at this point: First and foremost is to gather as much intelligence as possible and second is to establish ourselves within carefully chosen circles—especially the nobility, the military and the empire's underground network."

"To attain these objectives we perform a variety of roles. I coordinate the activities of the whole Family. I am also Arto's court wizard and as such monitor your husband's action. Pia stays with you to ensure your safety and facilitate your communication with us. Rizzen and Jacia are assigned to spying and assassination. At the moment, Rizzen is investigating the underground network in Rosethorn while Jacia has been ingratiating herself with the Dhorn nobility."

Sarla flashed a look at Jacia, who was grinning evilly again. "We can talk about my exploits later if you want, Princess," she said as her mouth twisted into another particularly nasty smile. "I imagine you haven't been getting any lately,"

Sarla raised an eyebrow in reply and thought about saying something but decided she was not worth it. She looked at Nathan questioningly. "Rizzen stayed behind in the manor."

"Yes, I have him a ring that will allow him to take your shape momentarily. You have until dawn to get back."

Sarla nodded. "Continue."

"Mando is in charge of expanding the network further."

Mando smiled at Sarla and stepped forward. "It's not easy work, let me tell you, finding people that we can trust. With Anden's help, we were able to secure an alliance with the local druid circle in the area. This is Martella, their representative."

"Let me guess, it was the Dhorn army who pillaged your forest." Sarla asked, eyeing the druid for the first time. She was a wild elf who had brown hair.

"Pillage is too soft a term. They annihilated all life in this area for their petty wars. They have upset the balance, all for their endless cycle of violence. We work to restore the balance, but for transgressions to the land and the life within it, we will make them pay." Her large brown eyes never blinked as she spoke, there was a haunted look within that spoke of her sincerity to the cause.

Sarla nodded sympathetically. "They annihilated my kingdom too. I strive to restore it as well," She turned her attention to Anden who was standing beside her. "I haven't seen you since Greenfork Isle," she said.

Anden gave a bow and said "Lord Benthur has assigned me to a different division my lady. It has taken me elsewhere,"

"And what do you do in that new division? Twiddle your thumbs?" Sarla said scathingly.

Mando and Jacia laughed hysterically as Anden blushed. Chella gave a heartfelt protest to her words and Sarla smirked. Vico would have been proud of her. He loved goading the ranger and was always the one who started it, or laughed hardest at it.

_Vico?_ Sarla frowned and shook her head, she tried to look apologetic to Anden but failed. _No, not just him._ She always hated weakness in a man, and saw further proof of the matter when Anden stammered an incoherent reply.

"Anden functions as our eyes and ears in the military. The Dhorn military is divided into two factions. The right faction group takes care of expansions the other deals with internal matters. This is where your husband belongs to. The left faction deals with internal security. With Anden's title and his class as a ranger, he now occupies a significant role in the left faction. We need this information in order to plan and position ourselves accordingly."

Sarla ignored the warning look that Nathan gave her and looked at Anden squarely in the eye. "Look ranger, you betrayed me to the Dhorn, not once, but _consistently_ for months while you helped them track and capture me. I don't care how your actions appease your rigid morals then and now. You have lost my trust and respect, and you'll have to prove yourself again and again to regain them."

She looked across the campfire to everyone gathered there and focused on Martella. "While I'm at it, let me make myself clear. I don't take kindly to betrayals. If you, or anyone else ever dare, then you and what's left of your circle will also be annihilated, by my hand or theirs."

Everyone fell silent for a moment. "The bond we share was born of blood and destruction, and these will trail in our wake before it is all over. All of you have been through hell in back in one manner or another. You needed me then and I came for you. I need you now, will you do the same?"

"Even if I didn't have a debt to you Princess, I would still want to exact revenge on the bastards who imprisoned us in that Isle," Jacia said, her features set. "I feel the same as Jazz," Mando said.

"My lady, I know I have wronged you… And that I deserve your spite. So I will strive to prove myself to you and would rather die than betray you once again," Anden said solemnly. "You are my liege now, you will be the law that I will follow, wherever your path takes you,"

Sarla nodded at their words.

"You'll find that my determination is no less than theirs," Martella said, her elven voice soft but filled with gravity. "Our enemy is the same; as long as you seek their downfall we will aid you in however way we can."

"I maybe a simple cook, but I will do all I can to look out for you little Sarla. I lost my daughter long ago, I will not lose you as well," Chella said as a tear made its way down her cheek.

"We will see you on the throne, before all this is over." Nathan said with a grim finality. "But what of your resolve? Are you determined to see this through?"

Sarla eyed Nathan from the side, her lips curled in a smile. "I haven't killed my dear husband yet, have I? I've shown incredible restraint. That should hint at my resolution."

Nathan's green eyes twinkled in amusement."It should do for now. I've mentioned our general strategy and everyone's roles. Do you have any other concerns in mind?"

"Yes. I know that Jacia is supposed to take care of infiltrating the Dhorn nobility but I would like to be involved. My target group is specific: the Imperial Family. All I need to do is to meet them once. Can you arrange for that?"

Nathan's face had turned to a mask of stone, as it always did when he was thinking. "You expect no difficulties then?"

"I expect plenty. After all, Arto seems to be set on keeping me under house arrest. But all I need to do is to meet them once, that will be enough to ensure that they'll ask for me,"

"You sound assured. What makes you think they'll do that?"

"My charm and beauty?" she said with a smile on her face. "Besides, I am the heiress apparent to Betancuria's throne. And if that's not enough, I descend from one of the previous emperors of the Dhorn Empire."

Nathan frowned. "How exactly are you connected to the Imperial Family?"

Sarla raised an eyebrow at him. "Is it so surprising? Almost all royal lines in the region are connected to each other by marriage or birth. My great-grandfather was Emperor Keir II. I remember my mother telling me about this. I'd almost forgotten it, until recently…" she trailed off. _So much has happened… Had I not heard that General then, I wouldn't even have remembered it._

"I don't understand My Lady, you are part of the Ascivan Imperial Dynasty?" Anden asked, frowning. "That makes you… the second cousin of the current Empress,"

"Just how old is your mother?" Mando asked incredously.

Sarla raised her eyebrow at Anden, then she turned to Mando and answered. "Suffice to say that I came from the youngest children of the two successive generations. And my mother was considered a bastard child because my grandfather married outside the Ascivan line. It was made clear that he or his descendants could never assume the Imperial throne, even though he was the only male heir during his generation," Sarla sighed, reciting the lines from memory.

"That part of my lineage doesn't really come up because my paternal ancestors have a long and established history as the royalty of Betancuria. Or at least they did until recently…" she frowned.

Nathan nodded. "I remember talk of your mother being a lowly foreign noble that your father met before the Dhorn Expansion wars began. But she was a lowly noble from a powerful house. This has implications."

"This means you are also a relative of the Prince Imperial, who I've heard so much about…" Jacia said, licking her lips.

"Yes, that would make you…second cousins once removed," Anden said again. An excited murmur hushed over the others as they discussed the avenues that this opened up.

"Do you have surviving relatives in the foreign nobility?" Nathan asked.

"Let me think. Yes, in the western reaches, but they are all "Dhorn" now, having assimilated or been conquered into the Dhorn Empire like Betancuria was. I don't even know if they still hold power or not,"

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. I will try to arrange for you to be introduced at a formal gathering to the Imperial family then. Anything else?"

"Yes… Can you find out who inhabited the manor that we occupy now?"

Nathan looked up at her. "How do you know that it's not the ancestral home of the Benthurs?"

"I… have my suspicions." Sarla shook her head. _Better not tell him about what I saw or else he might think I'm losing it._ "It's nothing. I just want to be sure."

Nathan nodded then concluded the meeting. He watched Sarla as she went around the campfire and exchanged words with the rest of the family. She traded a few words in hushed tones with Anden and Martella and he saw her frown as if she had made a discovery.

Afterward, she exchanged some scathing remarks with Jacia and Mando was only too happy to be the referee of their verbal battle. Then he watched as Chella took her turn and gave Sarla another hug. He noted that although she received her embrace, she never really responded to it.

A strange feeling came over him then, and he tried to put a finger on it. How different his plans had been for her. Now he was no longer looking at a child that he needed to protect. She had grown. Her amber eyes had lost their bright innocence and always had a guarded look about them. Her grace had never left her, but she now moved with purpose. She had set out to rebuild her world, but in doing so, it would take a lot more out of her than what she had lost.

At that moment, she turned to him and approached.

"Liked my little speech?" she said as she sat down beside him.

"You certainly have a way with words." Nathan paused, eyeing the lines under her eyes. "Pia said that you haven't been getting much sleep lately."

Sarla sighed. "I'm alright, you don't have to worry."

"Is it hard to go back to that way of life?" Nathan inquired.

" I'm…quite used to the life that they have built around me. That way of life back at the castle; surrounded by attendants, barely a moment of true peace," Sarla brushed aside a strand of hair that covered her eyes. "At least this time there are no formal ceremonies that I have to attend to, nor any royal responsibilities to take care of. But… I see things differently now. That does not make it easy."

They were silent for a moment, Nathan's luminous green eyes stared at the bonfire, listening to her words and calculating the implications of what she was saying.

"When I look in the mirror, I have to wonder, who is looking back at me? The Princess? The Rogue? Arto's dutiful wife?" Sarla said it in such a low voice that he had to strain to hear it.

"You are who you are, Sarla; those are just roles that you play with people,"

"Yes." _But who am I now?_ _A marionette on strings?_ She did not say the question out loud. She did not trust herself to say it right. So she sighed and rested her face on her wrist, her elbow on her knee.

"What about your first night? Has he touched you yet?" Nathan asked.

"Touched me, yes, but only to give me a bath. We have not been alone together since." Sarla said as she straightened up. "But don't keep your hopes up, it has barely been a week."

"I'd have thought that he'd want to get your first night over with as soon as possible."

"I thought that would be the case as well, yes. But it worries me, does he not desire offspring? Or perhaps he doesn't desire me? The first would make sense especially since he already has a daughter, but the other? Unfathomable. What is he waiting for?"

Nathan suppressed a smile at her confidence. "I will try to find out as best I can."

"No hurry. I think I'll find out sooner or later." Sarla said. "Just make sure I stay alive this time." She said this with a calm that covered the anxiety that he knew she must have felt. She was stirring the firewood of the campfire, and a haunted look crossed her eyes.

Nathan frowned. He was willing to do anything to see her on the throne again, to fulfill her destiny and get her there in one piece. Yet there were complications. Too many missing pieces to the puzzle, more than the capacity of their little group could handle. He would have to make a sacrifice sooner or later. He knew how he could make it easier for all of them, and what he should do. It was the only way to ensure her safety before it was all over.

He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her and assure her that all her sacrifices would not have been for naught. That she, who in so many ways, have become the most important aspect of his life, would see herself through and before her life was over she would have the empire at her feet, to do with it what she willed.

She was, in all ways, the daughter he should have had. Nathan clenched his fists.

"You should get back," he said as he tore his gaze away from her and set his mind to work.

He had made his resolve.

--

When Sarla came back, she went straight to the library and scouted for books that could shed some light on the military structure and it's relation to the ruling imperial family. Under the pretense of reading stories to help her fall asleep, she gathered the books that could give her the information she needed and went straight to reading it.

Several hours passed and she was lying in her bed with her second book on her lap and her eyes half-closed. The blankets lay in a mess surrounding her, as if she was wrestling in the bed earlier.

And that wasn't far from the truth.

The light in the room dimmed as the wick of the candle gave its last sigh and drowned itself in its own wax. Sarla sighed, she was nearly finished reading _An Annotated History of the Dhorn Military_. It was a book written by a military historian who decided to publish the book posthumously due to fear of retaliation by the nobility. He was wise to take that precaution; he had predicted that the military would eventually grab the reign of power in the Empire long before the current Emperor went ahead and did it himself.

This was the one interesting thing that she found out earlier: the Ascivan Dynasty had been effectively toppled in a civil war some 30 years ago but reinstituted when the usurper, who was among the highest ranking generals of his time, married an Ascivan. She discovered this while speaking briefly with Anden last night. The ranger still has his uses, after all.

The Dhorn Empire had never been fully integrated. The author argued that the nobility continually weakened itself because of their growing reliance on mercenaries instead of training their own soldiers in their countless wars to wrest power away from the Imperial Throne. This fostered a culture of warriorism that enabled another class to form. It was originally composed of ambitious peasants but had steadily increased its influence over the years.

The ruling Ascivan Emperor at the time, Emperor Kier I, noticed this trend and formalized the warrior class into a highly hierarchical and rigid structure that became the military as they knew it today. Through battles it won over the years, its power grew more and more concentrated until the military effectively obliterated the loosely organized mercenaries of the nobility and held the monopoly over arms. While the succeeding imperial rulers struggled to de-politicize them and use them for their own purposes, the author predicted that it would only take one dissention coming from its highest ranks, to weaken the tenuous hold of the Imperial Crown and seize power for itself.

And this was what happened; a highly distinguished war veteran, proclaimed general after his many conquests in the Dhorn Expansion wars decided to wrest the rule of the Empire from the Ascivan Emperor by organizing a mutiny and using his command of the military to gain power. Lothair the Conqueror, as he was known then, led a bloody civil war that lasted for a year before he broke down all resistance and proclaimed himself to be the new Emperor. He was also her father's closest ally before he turned on him and decided to conquer Betancuria as well.

She closed her eyes. History had a bad habit of repeating itself. If they were able to play it right, the circumstances could become ripe again for these things to happen. Sarla could already see the manipulations that Arto had begun, connecting his family to that of the Bastiennes, who was actually the highest ranking soldier in the left faction. With her help, it may very well be Arto who would stage the next coup d'état. And she would be, instead of a Queen, the next Ascivan _Empress_ on the throne.

She sat up and frowned, running her hands through her hair. _I'm tired…_ She peeled the blanket away from her body and placed her feet on the wooden floor. She cast a light cantrip and a glowing ball hovered over her head, illuminating her surroundings in a soft blue light. She walked up to her coffee table and pulled out the next book on the stack.

Before she went back to her bed to start reading, Sarla looked at the world outside her window. She could see the courtyard below, and beyond its high walls was the countryside that surrounded the city. It was still dark but judging from the violet mist in the horizon, dawn was approaching soon.

Sighing another deep breath, she closed the book left it back on the table. She went to her dresser and donned another layer of clothing atop her night gown. She freed her reddish gold hair from its knot and tried to rub the tiredness from her eyes.

She decided to walk around the backyard and wait for dawn. She only had these few precious moments for herself, when everyone else was asleep. During these times, she could think the clearest. She went out of her room and walked quietly down the stairs.

When she arrived at the second floor landing, she was stopped by the strange magical aura that she had felt when she first approached the house. She looked around the hallway and noticed the door of one of the rooms further down the hallway open, and a strange light coming from the inside.

She approached, and slowly opened the door. She saw a ghostly outline of the young woman about her age with blond hair resting against the piano in the corner. Sarla froze, the apparition was extremely clear this time, and it seemed that it had been waiting for her.

The apparition turned her head and regarded Sarla, a soft smile on her lips. The light that surrounded the apparition was stronger than the light that Sarla's cantrip gave, and she saw more clearly that there were slight differences in their features. But they were still eerily similar with her own. She felt an inexplicable sadness and longing creep into her heart.

_Won't you play for me? _The apparition mouthed as she stood up and turned to her. Sarla heard her voice with her mind but it barely seemed like a whisper.

"Who… or what… are you?" Sarla asked as she made a tentative step inside the room. She slowly started to walk toward her. With each step, the apparition grew thinner and thinner. "Wait…" she called.

_Play for me…_ the apparition said again as she began to fade from view. Then, in a softer tone, she called to her, _Sarla… my dear Sarla… _With a smile, she was gone.

The glow in the room faded, and once again her only source of light was her own. Sarla reached the piano and felt the surface where she apparition had been leaning against only moments before. Strangely, they felt warm. Her hands wandered down to the black tab that protected the keys of the piano and pulled it up, revealing the white and black keys inside.

The piano was covered in dust and it was apparent that it has long been neglected. But it still looked grandiose and the woodwork was still smooth. She tried playing a few keys and noticed that, though some keys were out of tune, it was still generally in good shape. She blew off the dust on the keys and waited for them to settle.

_Play for me…_ she heard the voice again. She took a seat and closed her eyes. She positioned her fingers over the familiar keys and started playing a melody from her memory.

It was one of the first pieces that she mastered. The critic who had listened to her play described the ode like moonlight flowing upon a still lake. It was her mother's favorite piece.

As her fingers struck the keys and wove into one melody, the flow of notes came more easily. So did the memories. She remembered when she played the same piece for her father and mother in their private quarters. In the safety of that room, with only the three of them, Sarla recalled the love that surrounded her family.

She remembered the expression of pride on her mother's face as she played, and the peaceful expression on her father's face as he lay on her mother's lap, letting the music take over him completely.

Tears started to make their way down her cheek but she did not wipe them away. She recalled the gentle laugh of her mother and her kind encouragement whenever Sarla made a mistake as she struggled to master the piece. She was reaching the last movement with its sforzando notes and fortissimo passages and recalled the time when she played this piece again for her mother when she was sick and had claimed that only her daughter's playing could cause her to feel better.

She had a terrible cough at that time, and Sarla remembered playing as hard as she could because she believed that if only she could play it perfectly, her mother wouldn't be sick anymore. And it had worked then, she recovered quickly and they were together again.

At that point, Sarla stopped playing. She could no longer see the keys in front of her. The white and black blurred into one as silent sobs racked her body. The light of her spell went out and she was shrouded in darkness. She gripped her arms tightly, feeling the full force of her loss: of the family that she loved, the life that should have been hers and the happy future that she could have had.

Then, in the darkness, she felt the fabric of a cloth envelop her as someone took a seat beside her. She started to feel another person's warmth in the coldness of the room. Once again the room resounded with the sound of a piano being played in a clumsy but steady manner, continuing where she left off. Sarla glanced tfrom the corner of her eyes to see a golden haired man with a rigid posture concentrating on getting the melodies out right.

His music was sonerous and deep, and had more discordance than harmony. Here and there a wrong note, but this did not stop him from playing. Then he stopped as abruptly as she had, running out of memorized notes to play.

He did not move or try to talk to her. He simply waited until sobs no longer interrupted her breathing and daylight streamed into the room.

Then without a word, Arto stood up and left.

_End Chapter 4_

_To those who are interested, Sarla played Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14 in C-sharp minor "Quasi una fantasia", Op. 27, No. 2.  
It is more popularly known as the "Moonlight Sonata"._

_...hehe, my beta reader, **Tawni** liked this chapter. I must be improving. :D _


	6. The String of Society

**Chapter 5:**

**The String of Society**

Days passed unremarkably. Sarla spent her mornings learning etiquette lessons from Uma, the gray-haired governess of the manor who received them on her first day. It was a mostly mind-numbing affair; how to behave when escorted by the Master, what are the common greetings among nobles, how to do the "Rosethorn Glide" (a way of walking that made the toes in her feet ache), and how to bind her hair, etc the "Dhorn" way.

As if she didn't have enough reason to kill them already.

She bore it all quite well; maintaining a graceful and placid front. She did not speak more than necessary. No one talked to her except Uma, and sometimes, she had a few whispered exchanges with Pia. She ate her breakfast and lunches alone and spent the rest of the day trying to find ways around her boredom.

And since she was a good little princess, she could wander the manor at will. She found a few hidden passages connecting one room to the other. And she was sure that there was a dungeon in the house somewhere, but she had never found the entrance. Yet.

Leaving the manor was another matter altogether, something which she decided not to pursue for now. Anyway she had that teleportation scroll that she could use to take her elsewhere. She kept it hidden inside one of her rings and always had it at hand for emergencies.

Then there was her husband. She did not see him around much; every day he left the house at the crack of dawn and came back only in time to dine with her. They did not speak. Arto would mostly stare at her during the time they dined together and she always found the design of the food in front of her to be more interesting than his cold blue eyes.

She was sure that the one who sat beside her that cold morning while she cried her eyes out was just another apparition. And she left it at that. There was no way a man like him could be capable of such an act of kindness anyway. If it was one.

After dinner, they would go to their separate chambers and pass the night without any incident. Then he would leave again in the early morning at the crack of dawn. She would always hear him. First she would hear the carriage being taken out and the horses whinny at their lack of sleep. Then the door would open at the other end of the hallway; his heavy booted steps would resound, walking across the floor. Then down the stairs, all the way to the front door. The gates would open and he would climb the carriage, then it will ride away, to wherever it was that he spent almost all his waking hours.

It was amazing how much she could hear in the silence of the morning. Had she wanted to follow him, she could have arranged it. But she already knew where he went every single day: the Military Complex in the Government Ward. There he spent his days writing reports, meddling in intrigues, torturing people… like a good soldier should.

So she stayed behind and tried looking for clues of his first wife and daughter as she explored the manor. She found none; not even a portrait or any of their personal belongings in the rooms. It was as if they never existed.

But she still needed to find information. She was convinced that she would never be able to stay ahead of him if she didn't have the necessary insight into his character and past. She was sure that his family could allude to what his weaknesses were. Hells, she was sure that if she tried hard enough, she could force herself to emulate his previous wife and actually_ be_ his weakness.

So strong was her resolve that, as a couturier took her measurements for her new dresses, she finally relented to the old-fashioned way of doing it; she turned around and asked.

"What was the previous mistress of the household like?" she casually said to Uma.

The governess promptly bowed and replied in a low, hushed voice. "We are not allowed to speak of the previous Madame Benthur."

_The bastard probably wants to cover up her staged death. _Sarla frowned as if she was shocked by her statement. "Well, why is that?"

"It is our way of honoring our dead and their memories, your Highness."

_Sure._ "…and their daughter? How come she is kept a mystery to me as well?" she said as she busied herself with smoothing down the crumpled layers of the cloth she wore.

"The young mistress currently stays in a boarding house as she completes her education, as is customary for all the young ladies of _noble_ birth," Uma said with an incline of her head.

Sarla fought off the attempt to roll her eyes. She had heard of boarding houses, there were several in Betancuria. But she was never allowed to go to one because of her _royal_ birth. Besides, all the girls that she met from those schools were usually snooty little brats who strove to emulate her and failed. _Miserably._ "Well, will I at least meet her?" she inquired with a hint of impatience.

"When the Master decides to, I'm sure you will be introduced. But I have been told that the Mistress was recently ill and would do well to spend the time with as little distractions as possible and to focus on recuperating."

_No, I was not recently ill, I was recently dead._ Sarla thought as she did roll her eyes. She mildly toyed with the idea of casting Dominate Person on Uma to interrogate her further.

Her thoughts were interrupted when one of the servants came into the room a little out of breath, then, after bowing to her, went to Uma's side and whispered to her that guests had arrived at the manor, calling on the Princess.

Sarla pretended not to hear but silently rejoiced at the idea. Then she frowned, wondering who it could be. She was easily able to eavesdrop on their conversation with her trained ears. Apparently the guests were Lady Greenfork and two of her other lady friends.

_So he chooses to assault me through an old ladies contingent. Damn you, Arto, you really know how to make me suffer! _She wondered if she could feign an illness, dispose of her guests and still maintain her dignity. She exchanged some words with the Lady Greenfork back at their castle and she did not enjoy it at all, especially since she kept praising Arto. If any of her old friends were like her, then she'd rather spend the afternoon with her books. At least they shut up after you closed the pages.

Although… she could certainly use this chance to gather information. If Arto was keeping a tight leash on her, which he was, this visit is surely part of a larger scheme. And the best way to position herself strategically would be to pretend to go along with his plans. For now.

Uma quickly ordered the servant to direct the guests to the drawing room. Then she turned to Sarla and approached.

"Your Highness, you have guests."

_No, really? _She bit her lip before the thoughts could escape. She pretended to study her left arm and the way the lace accented her wrists at the edge of her sleeves. "Who is it?" she asked casually.

"It is the Lady Greenfork and two of her friends. I have instructed the servants to lead them to the drawing room,". She clapped two times, snapping the attention of the poor couturier who dropped her instruments to the ground. "Come, come! Finish this quickly so we can dress her Highness appropriately for her guests."

--

Sarla sat quietly across the three ladies in one of the drawing rooms on the second floor of the manor. She sipped her tea as the old ladies in front her chattered like there was no tomorrow.

"Why did you have to leave so soon?" Lady Greenfork said as she busied her mouth with a strawberry tart. "Well, anyway, you don't have to worry, we are here now, and we'll do what we can to keep you occupied, won't we ladies?" she winked at her companions.

_Slow movements. You can do this. Afternoon with batty old ladies. Piece of cake. Piece. Of. Cake._ She quickly mapped out the possible exit points in her mind as she laid down her cup on a table and forced a smile.

"Oh, dear, I'm sure they've got plenty of things to do, that's why Arto dragged her away," said the one on Lady Greenfork's left.

"Yes, yes, you know, _newly_-weds and all that," a friend of hers replied, sitting on the opposite end. The two other ladies were introduced earlier but Sarla did not even bother to remember their names.

"Still we could have done so much more! There is plenty of game left in the forest I think, oh my husband loves to hunt, but I've always found it dreadful. Those unfortunate animals, hunted for sport every year_, oh! _The poor, poor things," Lady Greenfork droned on.

"We know, Lisa, we know," said the one on her left, patting her back.

The one on her right then spoke again, her hat with its feathers giving a little jerk as she turned to Sarla. "But do tell us, my dear, how you're finding Rosethorn? It is your first time here right?"

Sarla opened her mouth to reply when Lady Greenfork interjected. "Oh that's right, terrible of me to go on and on about my feelings, and not to be so forthcoming with _yours_!" She started turning in her seat and the feather in her hat started jerking with her sudden movements, distracting Sarla's eyes.

"So how are you darling? I trust that the society here is not so different from the one back in your kingdom?" Her eyes glittered as she waited for her reply.

"Well…" Sarla started, turning her eyes away from the feathers and her compelling desire to rip them away. She straightened her back and spread her hands in her lap in a plaintive gesture. "I'm afraid I've yet to form a definitive opinion. You see, I haven't seen much of your society yet. I have not gone out of these walls since I arrived."

"Oh, that's a _tragedy!_" the one on her left replied. The other vigorously nodded her head.

Sarla saw Lady Greenfork open her mouth and she knew that once she spoke she would never get a hedge-in otherwise. "I was hoping…that is, if it's not too much trouble, that you ladies could introduce me? I'm afraid I still don't know very much about it. If my mother were still alive, she might have been able to guide me in these matters. Sadly, she is no longer in this world."

Compassion pooled in the eyes of the three ladies and Sarla knew that she had them.

"I'm very sorry child, but we can't be the one to introduce you to the larger society." Lady Greenfork said, no longer in a hurry to get her words out. "That is the role of your husband. We can, however… share stories about them, if that's what you'd like."

Sarla looked up at her expectantly. "Oh, that would be delightful," she said. _Gossip! A mine of information!_ "Then I'd like to ask, since I am also of royal birth, about the Dhorn Imperial family?"

"Oh, what a _delightful _topic! How much do you know about them?"

"Not much really." Sarla admitted. "My Father and Emperor Lothair were allies for a long time." _Until the Emperor sent his army to conquer Betancuria, _she thought"I have not been given a royal reception at their court but if I were, who would receive me?"

"Well, I doubt it would be the Emperor, that's for sure."

"What do you mean?" Sarla asked,

"_Dar_ling, the Emperor has not shown himself in public for quite some time. Some rumors say that he is on his deathbed, but wherever he is, he's been there for months," Lady Greenfork said with an air of authority.

"What about the Empress then?"

"Ah, busy as ever, flitting like a bee from one charity to another. My, my."

The other lady snorted. "The hypocrite. She has the street children refer to her as the "Most Loved Empress", bah, what a lie."

"What do you mean?" Sarla inquired.

"Sylvana! That's no way to speak of the Empress!" Lady Greenfork chastised her friend.

"Oh, you hated her when we were younger too, _admit it!_" her friend retorted. "Even before that woman became the Empress she was always so full of herself, and thinks she's better than everyone else."

"Just because she doesn't invite us to her tea parties doesn't mean that we should bear her ill will Sylvana," the other friend said.

"Does she act that way since she was an Ascivan?" Sarla inquired, curious as to what the ladies know about her line.

"Yes, yes, the snooty hypocrite. That's exactly why she thinks she's better than us," Sylvana replied without pausing for breath.

_Interesting._ They weren't even alarmed that she knew about the line. Did they know that she was one of them?

"But oh, my dear, there was a time when no one would dare question it. That Family had power. And their men…" The other friend fanned herself. "I was a bit in love with the Empress' brother," she admitted.

Lady Greenfork wheezed what seemed like a giggle. "We _all_ were." Then a silence fell upon them, their faces in grim recollection.

"What… happened to him?"

"He… died during the civil war 30 or so years ago, killed by the Emperor himself. It was horrible. His… remains… were left on display outside the castle walls…" the one who was explaining closed her eyes tight as if suppressing the sight of it.

"I tell you, my dear," Lady Greenfork interjected while laying a hand on her friend. "In a society with as much nobility as there is peasantry, the First Family of the Empire has always been a jealously guarded ground. The Ascivans held that ground for centuries. And after his bloody ascent to power, Emperor Lothair had the good thinking of marrying one in order to legitimize his rule and of course, appropriate the resources of the house for his own gain,"

"She was the only one who was spared," the quieter friend said, reclaiming her voice again.

"What do you mean?"

"Everyone in her family was executed during that horrible period," Sylvana continued. "That was how her brother died, along with the rest of her kin. All of those who were associated with them were slain as well."

"That must have been horrible," Sarla said, her eyes unreadable. _And hauntingly familiar._

"It was a dark period in our history my dear, oh yes." Lady Greenfork said with a sigh.

"But at least the line remains. It's a wonder though, that she only bore one child."

"The heir to the empire?" Sarla asked.

"Yes, the Imperial Prince. He's a darling, seems to be intent on becoming a bard, for whatever reason."

"Oh, I suppose he's _charming_ enough, yes, but well, he seems to be quite a weakling," Lady Greenfork said her tone changing as they found a lighter subject to speak of. "Not surprising really, considering our taste in men, I mean all our husbands are associated with the military in one way or the other." They all gave sheepish grin.

"What about that time when there were rumors of his engagement? To some foreign princess? Oh, I don't even remember her kingdom or name. Anyway, it didn't push through, to the _delight _of the local fathers and daughters alike." Sylvana added.

"I take it that he's handsome then?" Sarla asked.

"Well, quite. There are mixed opinions. But don't even think about betraying your husband, how broken his heart would be if you ever did. Speaking of which, how have you two been? How do you like being married?" Lady Greenfork said.

_Subtle. I bet that's what Arto told her to say. _"Oh, really, it's a breath of fresh air." Sarla said as she opened her fan and vigorously moved it.

"Really?" Sylvana asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well no, not actually…." Sarla said as she stopped fanning herself and lowered her eyes._ Let's see how much I can use the Pity card._ "He…. treats me like I'm just another possession. We… have not even had our first night together." She idly wondered whether she should sob to increase the effect.

"Oh you _poor_ thing, what could _possibly_ be holding him back?" Lady Greenfork asked.

"I don't know if I admire him or pity him, but he must have his reasons, does he not?" the quieter one said.

"_Hmmm_," Sylvana said, studying her closely. Then she became animated and was barely able to contain herself in her seat. The feather on her hat started dancing to and fro. "Oh, I know! I've got just the thing that will cheer you up!"

Her friends turned her inquiring gaze to her as she declared "The Grand Mask Ball!"

"What's a Grand Mask Ball?" Sarla asked.

"Oh, Sylvana, _shush_ your tongue!" Lady Greenfork said.

"Oh, come on, Lisa, she needs the distraction, the poor girl. We should take her with us," Sylvana argued.

"But what if her husband finds out?" the other one said.

"What if _all_ our husbands found out?" Lady Greenfork asked.

"What difference would it make? Besides, we could always say that we were looking for them there, you know." Sylvana argued. Then another silence fell upon the group.

Sarla, who was forgotten for a while, finally had time to speak up. "What is a Grand Mask Ball?" she repeated.

Lady Sylvana eyed her conspirationally. "Now, this is an absolute secret," The other ladies wheezed their giggle again at her tone. "But everyone knows about it. Well, at least everyone of _consequence_ knows about it," She corrected herself. "And it requires only a little, really. All you have to do is to show up in a masked costume so that nobody will know who you really are and… _socialize_. Now, as a rule, you go individually in order to lessen the chances of being recognized but since it's your first time to go, we can't leave you alone, can we?"

"No we can't," the other one said.

"What goes on in those events?" Sarla asked.

"Oh, well, you'll _see_ for yourself," Lady Sylvana replied. "But let's just say this regular event is never the topic of polite conversation in a day." And the other ladies wheezed again.

"It happens a week from now, so you'd best prepare. The theme for this year is "The Hunt". Now, you've got to be creative with your dress, my dear. Generally the men dress up as the hunter and the women, their prey," she eyed her other friends and winked. "We can help you with suggestions on your dress, if you want…"

At that moment, Pia and her other attendant discreetly came into the room bringing more refreshments for the ladies. Sarla watched as they brought the tray carrying the implements inside and thought to herself. _I think I have enough information; time to get rid of them._

Sarla stood up energetically and set to work. "Oh, my! I have lost track of the hour. Forgive me ladies, I still have another activity I should attend to before my husband gets home!" Then she turned to her attendants who were a bit bewildered at her sudden declaration. "Thank you for reminding me," she said in their direction while flashing her brilliant smile.

"I must thank you as well, ladies, this has been _such_ an invigorating afternoon," she said as she shook their hands one by one and also took the opportunity to help pull them up to a standing position. "You certainly have given me _much_ to look forward to," she said as she led them to the door.

"Oh, that's very well and good. Such a pleasure to have spent this time in your company—"

"The pleasure is mine," Sarla said as she opened the door out into the hall and started leading them in accelerated steps down the stairs and straight into the entrance of the manor. "Of course, I will see you again won't I? A week from now? You won't forget our, what was it again, Lady Sylvana?" she asked turning her head to see if the other women were following her, which, thankfully, they were.

"Our game of bridge, my dear. We'll come pick you up when the moon is in the middle of the sky," Lady Sylvana said, giving her a wink.

"I will await your arrival then, with eager anticipation." Sarla was finally at the door and she singlehandedly pulled them open. Then she started waving them out, all smiles and well-wishes and kisses to the cheek.

Finally, they were out the door. She pulled one of her attendants to her side and whispered to her ear "See the ladies to the gate, and make sure they stay out. I've had enough of them for the day." Then she shook her head tiredly and gave her a little nudge.

The other attendant went out of the door and closed it behind her with a smile.

Sarla then motioned for Pia to follow her while she went and ascended to the second floor of the manor again, heading for the library.

Pia was close at her heel, and as soon as she closed the door, she heard Sarla talk to her as she began checking out the books on the shelf.

"Tell Nathan of an upcoming Masked Ball," Sarla moved across another shelf, searching for something. "I'll need help with the costume that I'm going to wear. It won't do to use one of the dresses that my _beloved_ husband ordered for me," she said sarcastically. "Now there's a theme, I need a hunter's help for what I have in mind. Maybe that druid will finally be useful for something,"

Pia nodded and watched Sarla as she darted through the rows and rows of books, collecting some along the way.

"Ask her to start hunting for a fox or a wolf for its fur. Preferably a fox, and tell them to procure leather for my boots and corset." Sarla passed by Pia once, carrying a stack of books in her arms as she disappeared behind yet another row. "Sneak into my room when the others are asleep and I'll hand you the sketch of what they're to make. Take my white night chemise from my dresser and give it to Chella, she'll be able to do the knitting for me," Then she came around to where Pia was standing and stuffed the books into her arms. "Carry these to my room as well, will you?"

"Oomph," Pia said as she struggled with the weight of the books. She set them down on the table beside her and glanced at their titles. _Dhorn: An Empire Dreamed, Honor Among Nobles, The Rosethorn of Eternity, Bloodright: the Ascivan Blood Royal, Demons, Shadowlords and Dreamcatchers: Rulers Past and Present, Tales of the Sundering: The Early Expansion Wars, Tortured Ladies Hearts Vol. 1 and 2_ "What are these?" Pia asked.

"Research," Sarla said with a smile on her face as she laid yet another thick book titled _Dancing with Rogues: Dhorn Waltz Made Easy_ on top of her pile.

--

The appointed night came and everything was ready.

Sarla ran her middle finger over her lips to even the rouge that she had applied. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, then swiftly gathered her auburn hair and coiled it on top of her head. She picked one tress free and let it fall to the side of her face, accentuating her amber eyes.

She then took her enchanted dagger, sheathed it then clasped the belt that held it around her waist, letting it hang loosely above her wide hips. Satisfied, she stepped back and spread her arms to her side, at the shoulder level.

"The Family's going to be there at the Ball," Pia said as she helped put on her black robe from behind.

"Good," Sarla said as she pulled the robe closely around her body and started latching the two sides together. "I hope they stay out of sight." She stepped back and inspected her appearance in the mirror one last time.

In the candle light and the surrounding shadows, she was almost invisible to the eye. Save for her ivory skin, her hair that glinted copper, her full, red lips and her amber eyes.

She took the two masks that Pia held out and tucked one under her cape, latching it on to her belt. She placed the plain dark one over her face and, after a few more adjustments to her garment, she stepped out of her room.

It was time to go hunting.

_End Chapter 5_

_Thank you to my dutiful betareader, **Tawni**, who still finds time for this stuff amidst real life issues. She's an extremely cool editor. :)_


	7. The String of What Could Have Been

**Chapter 6:**

**The String of What Could Have Been**

"Don't worry dear," Lady Greenfork said to Sarla as she stroked her hands. "We're not telling our husbands _or_ yours. They think we're out for our nightly games, just like always." They were inside a heavily curtained carriage that traversed Rosethorn's streets. All four of them huddled together, barely contained in the space inside.

Sarla shook her head, "It's not that. This is the first time that I'm going to take part in a Dhorn social event… I'm a bit nervous." _Oh to be seen with a bunch of old ladies… _she thought as she shifted in her seat. _It's embarrassing._

Lady Sylvana stifled a laugh. "_Oh_, believe me. This is one social event where you're going to see a lot more than you'd want to, and no one will talk about it in the morning."

_See man-flesh? Hm. It has been awhile._ Sarla felt her pulse quicken in anticipation. "O-oh," she said in a slightly alarmed voice and tried her hardest to blush. _All the more reasons to get away from you as soon as possible._

"Re_lax_ child! Let me ask you, has _anything_ changed with the husband?"

Sarla lowered her head and avoided their eyes, "Well, no, nothing has changed. We have not spoken since my arrival here and there is little occasion for it since he's away most of the time."

"I wonder where he _goes_ all the time?"

"That's something I wonder about as well," Sarla said. _Although he can stay there, away from me, for as long as he wants._

"Well, see, just think about it this way," Sylvana said. "This is _your_ turn to go somewhere that he doesn't know about. This is _your_ turn to have fun."

"Enough talk about husbands, ladies," Lady Greenfork said as the carriage stopped on cue. "Tonight, we're as _free_ as a bird!" Slowly, they came down from the carriage one by one, onto a cobbled driveway that was already bustling with people.

Sarla traced her eyes through the gathering. Some people were getting off their carriages, others were walking toward the large double-door entrance in the middle of the circular driveway. Everyone wore a mask, a cloak, and a smile, reveling in their anonymity.

They followed the crowd, passing through the open door and into a grand ballroom straddled on both sides by a white marble conclave staircase. Heavy red curtains draped the walls and the room was lit by magical torches and glowing balls of light. Gold lined the linen and held the candlesticks aloft. All manners of the gentry were present, and servants made their way around carrying the refreshments and other bite-sized delights. A string quartet was playing from corner enclaves strategically positioned on the second floor landing. The halls were suffused with lively music from their instruments.

Despite the grandeur of the place with its smooth walls, intricate carvings and detailed, pattern heavy draperies, Sarla's eyes were more attracted to the pouches that stuck out from the men and the glittering jewelries on the women. _A pickpocket's heaven,_ Sarla thought as she stared at a bulging purse of an overgrown male talking to a small girl with a mask made of feathers. She closed her fists and eyes as they brushed through another whose bag of coins was dangling on his side, like a ripe fruit waiting to be harvested.

It was a stubborn force of habit; she had to remind herself that she no longer has to rely on those skills to survive. She found Lady Greenfork's arm and held on to it, preventing her fingers from wandering too far.

"Dear, aren't you going to take off your cloak?" Lady Greenfork asked as the ladies took off theirs and handed them to a servant that waited on them.

"N-no," Sarla said, trying to sound shy. She looked around at the people who were peeling off their hoods and revealing their flamboyant dresses underneath. There were painted peacocks, penguins, and all manner of flightless birds around. "I'm beginning to be uncomfortable and… and every noble in the capital seems to be here." She saw their mouths open in protest but beat them again to the next line. "Besides," she added quickly, "my husband might recognize me. They always know, don't they? It's part of the bindings of marriage."

That got their attention.

"I swear if I see _my_ husband spending time with another woman…" the quiet one said.

"Well, don't worry about it. Go and sample the young men, there are quite a handful around." They began to walk toward the ballroom, following the movement of the crowd.

Sarla looked up and scanned the faces of those gathered there. To her surprise, most of the men, especially those who were about her age, were not wearing any masks. And true to the theme, they were in their hunting clothes; black coats, or brown leather tops, gloves, riding pants and leather dress boots. The women were dressed as "the hunted", though most were wearing variations of the same birds with feathers in their hair, mask and skirts. _I guess it's a trend to copy one another, _she thought as her eyes grew bored with the repetitive pattern that they wore. What was that proverb again? Birds of the same feather… _are stupid together._ She suppressed a smirk.

Lady Elise (the quiet one) commented about the dresses of the women and Sarla released her hold on Lady Greenfork on the pretense of touching Lady Sylvana's feather-layered dress. She idly wondered just how many ducks were killed for her purposes.

They went around the room, their conversation going from one topic to another. Sarla made a silent note to herself to thank Uma for teaching her that damned Rosethorn Glide; it made her fit perfectly well with the other ladies. She kept her mouth shut the rest of the time and waited for her opening.

She found her chance to leave when a particularly animated argument erupted between Lady Sylvana and Lady Lisa. She fell back a few steps, ostensibly to inspect her shoe (or boots, as it was the case). When she noticed that they were not paying attention, she quickly slipped away and found a room where she took off her hood and freed her hair from its bindings. She replaced the mask on her face and cast a spell to slightly modify her features as she prepared to face the crowd.

--

A feline goddess walked the earth.

She was covered in earthen colors; her torso was wrapped in a reddish leather hide with furry edges that was built like a corset that hugged rather than shaped, the curves of her body. Underneath the corset was a white semi-transparent chemise that hung loosely from her shoulders, exposing the top of her breasts and the beginning of her cleavage. They ran underneath and continued to her hips and legs, ending in an asymmetrical hemline that bared its upper reaches. The thin cloth looked like it was torn, further emphasizing the landscape of her body and the softness of her skin.

She loosely wore a belt that sheathed a small skinning knife and her other mask, which now eerily resembled a trophy skull on her side. The same fur which made up her corset also lined the edges of the top of her boots, which looked like it was made for wear, and reached up to her knees.

The most striking feature of her attire was the mask she wore on her face. Her amber eyes were emphasized by the upward curve at the edges. It perfectly followed her aristocratic nose and only had slits for opening. It ended just below her nose and emphasized the fullness of her lips. The mask was colored black in the middle but gradually became lighter in shade until it became copper-red on its curved edges, mimicking the darker shades of her hair.

She was dressed to hunt, to kill and to feast. Not necessarily in that order.

She started a slow, sauntering walk, with the long graceful strides of a predator out to look for prey, immediately turning the heads of those she passed. She had a gait that would've made any man faint.

Desire hung thick in the air. The crowd readily parted for her. As she passed by, the males in hunting clothes drew closer and whispered challenges to her ear. _My foxy lady… / Would you like to hunt with me? / Let's fuck._

Sarla raised her eyebrows and snarled at a man who tried to touch her. _Pathetic,_ she thought as she made him back down with the murderous intensity of her gaze.

Then her eyes flicked to a young man, further ahead in the crowd. He was a shorter than the others, and was capitalizing on the distraction she made by picking the money pouches off the distracted fools. The edges of her lips went up in a smile. _Not bad,_ she thought as the thief picked his third pocket in a span of seconds. _A little sloppy,__ but it shows that he's had practice before._ Just as he pulled his hands away from his fourth mark, she noticed a birthmark a little under the bone on the person's wrist. It was like a black botch of ink had been spilled on the sides and unfortunately for him, marked him distinctively. She made a mental note of interrogating the little thief if she had the chance, and maybe even recruit him later.

Sarla continued her walk toward the center of the room. She thought she might head up the staircase and have a better view of identifying her _own_ mark. First, she thought a certain blond haired, straight-backed, troubled man would do, but decided against it, thinking that a blue-blooded man would be a better sport. The problem was of course, in identifying him.

Then she came upon a man she easily recognized. He was standing right in her path and was looking at her amusedly, his ocean blue eyes dancing in delight. He wore a red coat that marked him distinctively from the others and had no mask at all; his confident smile telling her that he did not need it.

"_Move_," she said simply as she neared him. His eyes roved around her body. She raised her eyebrows and placed her fingers in her hips, fingering the handle of the sheathed knife.

The man's lips curved up in a smile. He breached the distance between them until he was standing face to face with her. "Say _please_," he said loudly. As if taking their cue, the other men who had been following her came close, surrounding her from all directions.

It was her turn to smile. She wrapped her fingers around him, sensuously trailing the sides of his body with her hands. He smiled, wrapping his arms around her and moving to kiss her neck. He suddenly stopped as he felt the sharp point of a dagger held by her other hand against his throat. "Move, _Bastienne_," she repeated, applying pressure. Then she stepped back, holding the dagger at arm's length and trailing it up his throat, raising his chin with its tip.

Herv looked at her with a barely restrained fury in his eyes. "I am the Master of the Hunt," he said in a low voice. "You will not deny me that which I want."

"And I am the one who's holding this blade." Sarla twisted the knife in his flesh until he winced, but the tip did not break his skin. "I can and will do _whatever_ I want." Then she slowly lowered her dagger and started to slice off the golden buttons that held his coat together. He was confused at first, then he smiled briefly and was about to touch her again, but froze when he saw the dangerous expression in her eyes.

"You have a lot yet to learn about how to treat a woman," Sarla said as she applied pressure on his left breast, right where his heart was. She flicked the dagger, the blade doing a full turn before she caught it. "Why don't you ask your father for a few more tricks?"

The men around him laughed, and Herv's cheeks flushed at the insult. Sarla took it as her cue to leave and withdrew from him. She sheathed her dagger in her belt. She had not walked a few steps when she felt the weight lift from her midsection as her weapon was pawned off by the thief from earlier. Sarla pretended not to notice it and kept walking forward, eager to put in some distance between her and the wounded ego of the young Dhorn.

She was stopped as she was about to ascend the grand staircase by a stately looking old man draped in exaggerated layers of fur of different animals. He held his arms at his stomach, bringing out the fullness of his belly. He stood at the platform where the two spiral staircase met, barring her way. As if on cue, the music stopped, and all activity settled down as they waited for him to speak.

"Goodeve, ladies and gentlemen, prey and predators alike," he said in a deep voice that permeated the room. "The hunter's moon is upon us. It is _time_."

Suddenly, the magical lights went out. There were a couple of shrieks as well as a few nervous giggles from the women and Sarla felt her feet begin to move before she even registered the thought.

"Let us hunt then, for our _pleasure_!" the man's voice resonated in the darkness. And there was laughter and half-hearted shrieking that drowned out all other noises in the room.

--

Sarla was running. She wished she had given chase to the thief that stole her dagger, she could have used it now, as she heard some men behind her hot in pursuit. If she could only find a deserted room to corner them in, then she could dispose of them one by one.

_The filthy perverts!_ she thought as she made her way across the labyrinth of second floor rooms. She idly wondered how they could follow her despite the fact that she was moving very quickly and was not making any noise at all. _The idiots must've had night-vision spells ready!_ She dashed through the furniture in the darkness and quickly exited through the other door. It was a good thing that she was used to making her way in these circumstances; something good had come out of the Underdark after all.

She found herself in a silent and empty hallway where she picked a random room, went inside and closed the door.

She could hear the footsteps still follow her, then one by one the doors started to open. _I need to be invisible!_ she thought as she backed away further into the room. She began to cast the spell silently and it fired, but at that precise moment, she became aware of two things: one was the sudden opening of the door in front of her, and the other was the feel of a warm body coming into contact with her skin.

The door opened and a man with short curly hair peered inside. The light was turned on in the hallway and it trailed light into the room, shadowing his features. After a quick look around the room, the man withdrew his face and called back to his comrades. "She's not here!" he declared and this was re-echoed by the other men who checked the other rooms. "Dammit, where did she go?"

"_**Find**_ her!" she heard Herv command from somewhere down the hallway. "I'm going to _fuck_ her brains out and maybe, I'll pass her on to the one who finds her first!" Then there was a shuffling of feet and silence as the men quickly withdrew from the area to look for her elsewhere.

Sarla had been holding her breath. When things were finally silent, she breathed out in relief.

"_So_… that was an invisibility spell right?" said a voice from behind her.

She jumped and stepped away, realizing for the first time that she had been leaning and gripping not a some_thing_, but a some_one_. From the sound of the voice, that someone was male. Papers fell from his invisible clutches.

"What… what are you doing here?" She asked the first thing that she came to her mind. She could barely make out the movement in the darkness as he bent down to pick up the scattered sheets on the ground. She frowned and remembered that their bodies made contact when the spell was cast, so she extended the spell's effect on him.

"I could ask _you_ the same thing," he replied. "But let's spare each other from answering unpleasant questions, shall we?" He had an easy manner of speaking and a resonant voice.

Sarla turned her head to him, studying his outline. She would not have been able to see where he was exactly if it hadn't been for a faint outline surrounding his body. He had finished collecting the dropped items and has drawn himself up to his full height.

He was tall; she could tell that much. Then there was the soft rustling of a fabric as he procured some item from the inner folds of his upper garments and deposited the loose sheets inside. Her eyes first followed what she could in his movements, then wandered around the room. In the dim light that filtered through the light curtains, she saw a large bed and a desk stand. That was all.

"What were those papers?" Sarla said as he turned back and was walking back to her She slowly started to step back towards the door.

"The reason I came here for," he offered simply. In a few long strides, he was back where he was previously standing. He stopped and was probably looking at her now, perhaps measuring how much of a threat she was. She slowly backed away until she was within easy reach of the door.

"I don't think I've ever met anyone who cast arcane spells the way you do," he said in a contemplative tone. "You were able to cast it without speaking the words, right? Did you study magic or were you born with it?"

Sarla halted in her movements, regarding him. It was strange; she did not feel threatened by him at all. On the contrary, she felt oddly comfortable. "I was born with it," she admitted.

"That should explain it," he said as the outline of his hand scratched where his head should have been. "Amazing, I never thought I'd ever meet one."

"Can you also command magic?" she asked as she leaned back into the wall beside the door, more for its solidity than anything else.

"A bit… but my spells are different."

"Well I…" she began then abruptly paused as her sensitive ears picked up the sound of footsteps sounding across the hallway. "_Someone's coming!_" she whispered, she reached out and dragged him towards her, away from the opening path of the door just as it moved.

A woman came in with her back towards the room. The light in the hall way was still on and she had a playful smile on her face as she beckoned for the one following her to come in.

Her mask was studded with jewels and a few feathers accentuated its edges. She wore heavy draperies of clothing made from murdered birds. She started taking them off, starting with her gloves.

"Come on, soldier," she said seductively as the first glove easily peeled off. She stepped backwards, drawing closer to the bed. "An exchange of services; though I must say you're getting the better end of the bargain."

A shadow loomed into the room as a well-built outline of a man lingered by the doorway.

The second glove had come off and she now held out her fingers and curled them in invitation. "I have always loathed mixing business with pleasure but…" she paused as the man came forward a bit. "I have heard _stories_, my Lord. Stories of your _stamina_ and… _size_."

Sarla's body stiffened as she finally saw her companion enter the rom. He came inside with the rigid way that he carried himself and did not stop until he was face to face with the woman.

The woman raised her ungloved fingers, slowly removed his mask and let it fall to the ground. "And what is it that you want me to do?" he asked in that cold tone of his that Sarla had come to know so well.

"Oh my lord, I didn't know you were _such_ a prude. Do I have to spell it out for you?" she leaned in to him as she started to undo the buttons of the coat he wore. "Make me _scream_ in delight," she said in a husky voice into his ear. "Give it to me the way you give it to your young princess bride." She traced her hands across his shoulders and his coat fell off. Then her hands wandered down and started its work on the lower parts of his garment. "I hear she's quite the beauty; that you keep her all to yourself, like some dirty little secret." She eased her palm in under the fabric and rubbed the length of him as she stared up to his face.

Sarla's struggled to keep her breathing even and buried her face in the soft, invisible material that the stranger wore. She had gripped him by the arm when she pulled him away and hadn't let go. She found herself holding onto him tightly, as if she was drowning and it was the only thing that held her afloat.

The woman suddenly let out a flirtatious laugh. "Does the thought of her make you _so_ hard? Do you want to rush home and get in between her legs? You only need to tell me how she moans so I can do it for you." She continued the vigorous movements of her hands, moving faster now.

Then suddenly, Arto's hands caught hers and pulled them up on the same level as her face. He was breathing heavily as he responded. "Keep her out of this, _whore_." Then he kissed her with a passion that Sarla didn't know he possessed. "I'll fuck you, but I'll only do it _once_," he said as he pushed her roughly on the bed. "Kill him… and I'll do it over and over again." He started undoing his clothes and threw away his shirt in a matter of a few seconds. "Now, what _exactly_ do you want me to do?"

"Well," the woman said as she licked her lips and raised her legs. "First you should close the door."

Sarla felt the man in front of her move and, using the grip that she had on him, pulled her out through the door just before it closed behind them.

--

They stood in the brightly lit hallway outside, casting no shadows on the floor. The stranger gently removed her fingers from his arm and held them. He started walking toward the end of the hallway, leading her away from where they just came from.

With one hand, he pulled the heavy red draperies aside and revealed glass-paneled a door behind them. He pushed it open and led her inside, into a wide stone balcony that showed a magnificent view of the rolling hills of the countryside illuminated by the light of the moon and the stars.

Sarla was frowning; her fists hurt from being clenched too harshly. She welcomed the coldness of the night air and brought her head up and looked at the sky above her. She took a deep breath as she continued to suppress the string of curses that were budding in her mouth ever since she recognized her sorry excuse for a husband.

He was probably screwing her, right this minute. She, whatever her name was, who left no doubt whatsoever about the looseness of her crack. _A whore! Gods damn him!_ She thought furiously. He got off on whores while she lay awake at night, apprehensive of when he would walk across the conveniently unlocked doors of her chamber. How _dare_ he sleep around when he could have had _her_, of all people? Men were willing to die for a taste of her flesh, and the best fuck of them all, she killed with her own hands! But he, who tied her down and ended her rogue days preferred fucking a woman whose titties probably sagged to the floor.

The pale moon looked down at her, serene in its silence. There was a darkness brought by heavy clouds that was threatening to take over the lands, surrounding the moon as it slowly conquered the spaces in the sky.

Sarla closed her eyes._ No... it is not as if I have any hold on him, _she thought._ I should be glad that he gets his pleasure from other women so that I wouldn't have to satisfy his lust myself. _

The dark clouds overtook the moon then, and as she became surrounded again in the darkness. She took another deep breath, letting the coolness of the air wash over her.

She let out a heavy sigh. She turned her head to the side and remembered the silent presence of the man she met inside the room. His outline was barely visible in the darkness. She felt oddly grateful for the warmth of the hands that held her now. She could tell that he, too, was looking at her, for all the good that that did.

"Why did you take me outside?"

"Did you know him?"

Sarla shook her head in disapproval. "Do you always answer a question with another question?"

He was silent for a while, considering it in his mind "Sometimes I do," he replied. "I thought you might appreciate the fresh air." He turned his head toward her again. "Well, are you going to answer _my_ question?"

Sarla looked away and ran her eyes across the spread of the country beyond the balcony railings. "You're… pretty meddlesome. Very well. Yes, I knew him. And no, I don't care. Whatever he does is his own business."

"Good," he replied, satisfied with her answer. "You are..." He paused, hesitating. "This won't come out right. Regardless. It hasn't been long since we've met..."

"More like a few minutes," she interjected.

"...but I have this feeling…"

"In your loins?" she asked in a flat tone.

"No," he answered simply. "Please don't make things difficult. I merely want to say that I think you and I…"

"That we should go somewhere dark?"

"Why, would you want to go back there?" he said with a playful tone.

"Well, no," she admitted, then she heard a strange sound from him. Was it a smirk?

"Do you know? Perhaps… perhaps I've dreamed of you before," he began. "I don't know why I feel so comfortable around you when my arms still ache from your death grip." He raised his aggrieved arm and stretched it. "Thanks to you, I probably won't be able to write steadily for a while."

"I'm sorry," she answered in all seriousness. "Had we met in different circumstances, things would not have been that way."

"Well, I'm not sorry at all." He paused, considering his next few words. "It's strange; I feel a strong affinity towards you. This… connection serves no purpose and follows no reason. How should I put it in words? I have this feeling that I should have met you before."

"_Should_ have?" she asked, making sure that she heard right.

"Yes… believe me, I know how awkward that sounds, but I've always been sensitive to things like this. I don't know why, but I can tell that you're going to be a part of my future."

Sarla considered him for a while longer, his tall outline standing steady. Truth be told, there _was_ something about him, something that nagged her at the back of her mind. It was as if something called to her from him, even if she couldn't see him clearly at all.

"You do know that what you just said sounds creepy, impossibly cheesy, and has the ring of the desire to get laid. And you said that to a total stranger, to boot, you don't even know whether I have warts in my nose or not."

"I assure you, I wouldn't have mentioned _any_ of it, had I been able to dismiss it easily."

"…aren't you embarrassed by what you just said?"

"Of course I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "In fact I'll probably regret this later. But what have I got to lose? You don't know me, I don't know you. Nothing is lost. Besides," he said with a smile in his voice. "I could always deny it later on."

Sarla couldn't suppress the smile that came to her lips. A cold breeze blew past them then and it felt soothing in its chill. "Well, whether we should or should not have met before, _now_ we have."

"Yes…" he replied. Then, after a long silence, "Shall we celebrate the occasion with a dance?"

_How perfectly absurd._ She thought as she smiled. _This man has an uncanny ability to make me feel at ease._ "Dance to what? The song of passing breeze?"

"No, let's call this the _Prelude to the Storm_," he said, with laughter in his voice. "Close your eyes."

_Prelude… that's incredibly apt_, she thought as she looked up at the sky and the heavy dark clouds that have taken over the sky. _Very well. Besides, _she thought as she prepared herself to cast an evocation spell,_ I can kill with my eyes closed._

She felt him turn towards her and raise the hand that has been holding hers all along. She raised her other hand and found his shoulders, while he found her waist. She stepped a little closer to him. They couldn't see each other, nor do they know the other's name. But it didn't seem to matter. She could feel him, and he was so very warm.

They swayed slowly, transferring weight from one foot to the other. The hand that held her waist trailed up and found her hair. He gently ran his fingers through it. She felt him move closer, breathing in her scent.

They moved together as naturally as the world turned.

In the darkness and their silence, Sarla started to hear a song; she recognized it from summers past. It was hummed by her Father during lazy afternoons when she was a child and she could still cuddle in his lap. It was strange that she remembered it now, as he held her close. She could feel his steady heartbeat as she brought down her palm into his chest. She leaned in and placed her ear beside it, listening to his heart and his breathing.

The world was silent for the first time. There was only that heartbeat, his breathing, and her own.

At that moment she felt an indescribable peace; it was as if all her doubts, fears and frustrations released their hold. And for the first time in a long, long time, she felt like she was _free_.

She didn't know how long they stayed together that way. But she heard him take a sharp intake of breath and she opened her eyes to see that the spell had worn off. She could now see him in his normal form. She was held by a tall dark-haired stranger who looked at her from behind his mask with warm, kind eyes. A truth entered her consciousness then; they were strangers, but she had known him all her life.

Rain fell; their pitter-patter on the stone surface sounded like an applause to her ears. They stood together, not letting go of each other's arms, eyes exploring each other for the first time.

The sides of his thin and wide lips slowly rose up in a smile. He mouthed, "you're beautiful," to her.

She didn't need to hear it to understand.

Her eyes wandered around him once again. He towered over her, lean and steady. There was nothing remarkable about his clothing save for the fact that it fitted perfectly to his physique. His long dark hair was tied back neatly behind him. Most his face was covered behind a plain black mask, much like the one that she wore before. But his eyes, oh gods, his eyes, they stared at her steadily, despite the raindrops that were trailing down his face.

And he was so very warm. She stared at his lips, only inches away from hers, and she knew that it stayed partly open for her, inviting her to take the next step. So she did.

She closed her eyes and kissed him. His lips felt warm and soft as he responded to her. It was a shy kiss; their mouths met each other carefully, as if they were afraid that the other would vanish at any moment now. There was a bittersweet aftertaste that was partly due to raindrops that trailed into their mouths and the poignant emotion that overwhelmed them.

It's was almost like a first kiss; promising of better things to come.

Then Sarla pulled away. _No, _she thought as she felt the cold rain land on her lips._ I've been kissed before._ _And I… __I can no longer believe in this._

She moved away from the warmth of his body, grateful for the rain that masked the warm tears that suddenly came unbidden to her face. She touched her mouth, still savoring his taste. _By the gods, this was how it __**should**__ have been!_ This was how she's always imagined the first time she would have been danced with a man, the first time she would have been kissed, the first time she would have fallen in love.

But no. She was no longer capable of believing in this light-headed feeling. That was forever lost the night Vico showed her what it meant to be saved by someone else. After that night, she never dreamed again.

She started to step backwards, eager now to get away from him. Then she halted, partly because of the tug of his hands, still holding hers, and partly because she was preserving the image of the tall and handsome stranger before her in her memory. _There is no more room for this,_ she thought as she studied his nondescript clothing to find a mark that could identify him, but found none. She blinked back her tears and forced a smile in her face.

"Beautiful stranger, I've dreamt of someone like you..." the words, like the emotions, like her tears, flowed out. She hoped that her voice, suddenly small, could still reach him in the rain. "Someone so kind and warm, so easy to love…"

Then he let go of her hand. His eyes were sad, but she could see understanding reflected in them. And something else; a flurry of emotions barely held in check, also, there was _respect_.

"Thank you,_" _she said as she beheld him one last time. _For letting me go…_ she added silently. Then, without another word, she turned and jumped down from the edge of the railing, disappearing from sight.

The stranger walked calmly to where she had gone off and gingerly palmed the stone surface that she touched only moments before. He lingered for a while longer, staring at the empty space she left. He lifted his fingers and caressed his lips. "It could not have been any other way…" he said with a wistful smile.

"Beautiful Princess Sarla…"

_End Chapter 6_

_Again, thanks to **Tawni**, who claims she already knows who the stranger in the rain is. Umm... ha! :s_


	8. The String of Fragility

**Chapter 7:**

**The String of Fragility**

Sarla leaned her head back against the stone walls of the manor; her auburn colored hair clung to the sides of her face and mask, rivulets of rainwater trailing down her body. She lifted her eyes and watched the dark clouds unleash water with an almost relentless ferocity.

She received every raindrop on her body with a solemn acknowledgment. _Cleanse me,_ she thought as she blinked away the water from her eyes and felt the rain rap against the material of her mask. Water trailed all over her body.

She shivered, clenched her fists and placed them behind her. She wasn't sure how long she had been standing under the rain, but she was determined to stay there until she was numb, until she could no longer feel the warmth of another person's body against hers.

Sarla shivered again. She opened her mouth as if to say something but her teeth clattered involuntarily. _Just a little bit more,_ she thought as she closed her mouth and steeled herself. _In a little while… all these will be gone._

She frowned and cursed herself for her weakness. _Even if I freeze here to death, I'm still going to feel his hand on mine, hear his heartbeat and feel his mouth. It's… never going to go away! Especially if I don't want it to._

Sarla opened her eyes, the amber of her irises flashing as they reflected lightning. Why did she allow him to touch her, dance with her? Why did she kiss him?! _A total stranger!_ She must've been more starved for a man's touch than she would admit. She clenched her fists. Had she sunk so low that she was willing to jump into the arms of the first man who treated her well?

It was a good thing that she still had control over herself. It wasn't prudent to be entangled with another man at this point, especially with her newly domesticated status. She would be in very real danger if she decided to pursue the attraction that she felt, especially since it was so intense.

No, nothing good could ever come out of it. It wasn't as if she did not have enough problems already.

As she continued to mull over her situation, the door back to the manor opened and a man stepped out, his heavy booted feet resounding down the stone steps. He turned his head towards her just as she started to ease away from the wall; and the ice blue gaze that met hers halted her movements immediately.

"Sarla?" Arto asked in an uncertain voice. He was putting his gauntlets back on and looked at her with an unmasked face. In the light of the torches mounted near the door, she could see him easily. He had worn a black overall and could easily be lost in the shadow of the night, were it not for the golden locks that framed his face, and his light blue eyes.

His eyes first expressed confusion at finding her there, then was quickly replaced by a look of murderous fury. He took three long strides and was upon her. His right hand gripped her wet arm. "_How the __**hell**__ did you get here?!_" he demanded through the sound of the rain.

She glanced up at him, unfettered by his outburst. "I don't… _know_ what you're talking about," she responded in as detached a voice as she could muster. She had to pause in the delivery of her lines to stop her teeth from chattering.

"You think I wouldn't recognize my own _wife_?!" he exclaimed as he gripped her harder, cutting all circulation in her left arm.

"_Oh_, so my l-lord… is mar-ried?" she said as her teeth clattered at the end. She bit her lip; her body shuddered uncontrollably. It was partly from the cold, and partly from the look in Arto's eyes, though she would never admit it.

"_**Enough!**_" he said as he roughly pulled the mask away from her face and dragged her back into covered entrance, away from the rain. "Did you participate in that _orgy_?!"

Sarla looked at him angrily, her amber eyes flashing. "I'm sure there are p-plenty of women there willing to scream in delight under you." She met his gaze levelly; there was no use pretending now. "But don't liken me to your ilk, _Dhorn,_ I would never spread my legs for some random stranger."

"_Sarla __**Benthur**__!_" he exclaimed.

Sarla opened her mouth then closed it again. Her features became set and unreadable.

"That's right. You're married to _me_ now," he said as he shook her for emphasis. Then he looked down at her outfit with open distaste. "Remember that before you say or commit any indecency..."

"R-real_ly_?! How is t-that? Is it s-stamped in my foreh-head? Is it c-c-coursing t-through my b-blood-d?" Sarla muttered, cursing her unsteady tongue. "We have **n-nothing!**" Convulsions took over and she mildly wondered if she was still standing on her own two feet or if Arto's hold was the only thing that kept her. "…_no-thing_…" she closed her eyes and steadied herself.

She realized just how much she had pushed her body to the edge. She looked unsteadily down at the floor beneath her feet and felt herself welcoming, almost insisting, on feeling its solidity. It would certainly be a far better bed than the nonexistent one that they were supposed to share.

She felt him let go of his grip on her left arm. She swayed and fell a little, but he caught her again. She looked at him and noticed his silence. The expression on his face had changed. "Let's argue later," he said quietly.

"W…," she muttered but closed her mouth as she felt his arm encircle her body and pull her close. She looked up at him, as he held her. He was frowning, and had his lips pursed.

She frowned; she had seen that expression countless times. In her peculiar state of mind, she finally realized what it meant; that damned frown and those pursed lips. It was neither disapproval nor confusion; it was _pity_.

He pitied _her_. And it was the type felt for an unwanted burden that has to be carried, as if you didn't have a choice in the matter. She watched him as he removed his coat and wrap it around her shivering form. _No!_ She regained a bit of strength and attempted to shake him off. "I d-don't need…" she started to say as she shrugged him away. But her knees gave way under her and she fell into his arms.

"You're just like a stray cat," he said as he easily held her up and finished wrapping the fabric around her.

_A… stray cat… _She thought as he held her face against his chest. She felt her mind cloud, lulled into complacency by the warmth and proximity of his body. _How astute… _Her mind slowly released its last vestiges of control.

_Pity and… a stray cat in the rain._

--

_The sounds of battle were all around them; steel against steel, shouts of command and pain resounding through the halls._

_Sarla was sitting quietly, helplessly, in a corner sofa of the small audience room as the nightmare in Castle Stormborn replayed itself once again._

"_General Galley," a tall man who had long brown hair said, his black mask obscuring the features of his face. He was standing where her Father should have stood. He was the King. _

_In this dream, he was someone else._

_But it did not matter. It was the same. Reflected in his eyes was a proud mixture of fear and determination. For their kingdom. For her. "What news do you bring us?" he asked his commander._

"_My King… Dhorn troops have taken the south gate," the soldier responded, his voice betraying his tiredness. "It is possible that the city will fall. And with it, the castle."_

_The King did not frown, but nodded, as if he had expected his words. "Possible or likely?"_

_The General paused, considering his next words carefully. "We will lose, my King," he said with a grim-voiced finality._

_Sarla found her voice and called him, though she did not hear any words or name. She stood up and approached him. He responded, the King-who-was-not-her-Father. He turned his masked face to her. When their eyes met she knew that he could see her soul; his eyes spoke of all the things unsaid between them, and all that would never come to pass._

"_Go to your room, Sarla," he said, with a gentle and resigned smile. "Stay there… until I send for you." He lifted one finger and caressed her cheek, then rested both hands on her shoulders. "Do NOT open the door for anyone you do not know. Understood?"_

"_Yes…" she replied. Then, "Are we in danger?"_

"_No…" he responded but immediately looked away. He glanced back at her with a fierce determination in his eyes. "I will do all I can to protect you. Go now." And he kissed her upon her cheek one last time._

_With what sounded like a scream from the depths of the earth, a dark vortex appeared in the middle of the room. Suddenly in their presence was a man whose armor was red with the color of blood and whose face was covered with the grime of the battlefield. She knew him well. He held a large red sickle, and had a crazed expression in his eyes. "__**YOU**__ wish to protect her?" Arto laughed maniacally as he scoffed at what he saw; the King-who-was-not-the-King, the could-have-been-who-will-never-be._

_But this time Sarla wasn't going to let the King be killed. She was ready; she felt the cold of iron in her hands and in the blink of an eye, she threw her dagger straight at Arto._

_But the dagger stopped in mid-air shaking as if it was struggling against an invisible force. Arto continued to laugh, immune to the only attack that could have hurt him. He looked at her, his eyes a translucent cerulean. "Oh, Princess, your love is the type that __**kills**__." The dagger did a quick turn-around and was thrown straight to the heart of the man standing beside her._

_She watched in horror as the King clutched his chest, blood pouring out of the wound her dagger made. She caught him as he fell to his knees. The dagger was buried to its hilt and she knew he was lost to her. She looked into his eyes, to the depths where she reclaimed her lost self. "You… didn't know me… I…" her voice trembled._

_The King smiled; a smile that spoke of beginnings and promises that would never be fulfilled. "B-beautiful stranger," he began as he caressed her face one last time. "I've dreamt of someone… like you. S-someone kind and warm… easy to love…" Then he gave his last breath. _

_Her tears never came. _

_Sarla looked up and saw Arto standing over her, naked now, his perfectly sculpted body towering over her, his hands still holding the scythe. "If only you had a man to protect you… perhaps you wouldn't have suffered so much…" He eyed her strangely; as if he was seeing her for the first time, and she was the most beautiful woman in the world. _

"_You took them all away from me…" she said; her voice was weak and tired._

"_Yes," he said as he positioned the sickle over her exposed neck. "And I love you, all the same." He brought the blade down._

_Sarla merely closed her eyes._

--

"_**N-no**__…_"

Arto's eyes jerked open. He sat upright from the bed and quickly looked around for the source of the disturbance that roused him from his sleep. His eyes scanned the room once again, then, sensing nothing amiss, he relaxed his stance and looked down at the woman in bed with him.

In the dim light of the candles, her sweat glistened against her skin. She was covered under thick layers of blankets yet she still shivered as if she was outside on a cold winter night.

He turned to her; the blanket fell from his form and revealed his muscular and battle-scarred chest. Sarla was curled up and faced the other edge of the bed, her mouth trembled slightly and a deep frown creased her forehead. He placed his palm over her forehead and listened to her breathing. She shivered violently under his touch and tried to move away, burying herself further in the blankets around her.

He frowned, his eyes a cold silver in the darkness.

Then, with one flick of his wrist, he took the thick blanket she was clutching and threw it away, exposing her body to the night. Sarla gasped and curled forward, her naked form slick and sweaty. Her breath came in ragged rasps. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her mouth opened in a noiseless scream.

"Nightmares," he whispered. "No wonder you never sleep." He got up from the bed and went to a small room behind the blinds in one corner of the room and came out carrying a fresh new set of blankets. He walked back to his side of the bed and laid beside her. He pulled away her matted hair from her face, his fingers lingering over her exposed skin. Then he shifted and covered her feverish form with his, pulling the blankets over them.

He moved closer to her as she slowly straightened up and adjusted to his presence. "Much as it irks you…" he whispered to her ear. "_I'm here_." Her fever made her body feel like a burning furnace, and it felt pleasantly warm in the coldness of the night. Arto wrapped his arms around her and gently settled her body against his.

Her breathing came more easily after a while, and he briefly wondered if she heard him. He liked her better when she didn't struggle so much.

But then again, he liked her more when she did.

--

"You left… _quite_ a mess that night," the voice of Henry Bastienne came out loudly and clearly. He was sitting comfortably in one of the drawing rooms in the manor, idly smoking his pipe. "If I didn't know you, I would've suspected you were getting sloppy."

Arto was in the room with him. He stood looking out of the window at the late morning's glow; his translucent blue eyes reflecting the white curtains as a breeze made them flutter into the room.

"Why did you take her there?" he asked. His voice carried a note of impatience but his face was still as impassive as ever.

The General puffed out a billow of smoke and watched it curl and rise. A smile spread across his face as he reached for a goblet set in the end table and brought it to his lips.

"You think I did it?"

"Please don't insult me," Arto said, still looking out of the window. He gripped the frame of the window tightly. "The ball was held in your estate. Your wife called on her that night along with Lady Greenfork and Lady du Blanc. If _you_ were trying to be discreet, you're being sloppy at it."

An easy smile broke out on the General's face. "If I wanted it hidden, you wouldn't have known of it." Then he stretched and shifted in his seat. "I have my reasons. Now, it has been days. When will she wake up?"

Arto did not to answer for a long time. "She is strong-willed. A wild card. You know that she cannot easily be controlled."

"Do not lecture _me_," General Bastienne replied in a dangerous tone. "You think I _like_ how you've been acting?"

A knock interrupted their exchange, and a servant came in with her head bowed low. "My Lords, the Princess is awake," she said.

Arto turned around, a glass-like expression in his eyes. He studied the attendant for a few moments then said, "leave us."

The smile was back on the General's mouth. "So at last, the Sleeping Princess awakens," he said in a jovial tone. He stood up as the maid closed the door. He sucked in his pipe and turned to look at Arto with an unreadable expression in his eyes. "_You cannot keep her forever._"

Arto's jaw clenched and unclenched. He crossed the room and walked towards the door. He hesitated, his hands resting on the door knob. He turned back to the General and said, in almost a whisper, "that is not up to you to decide."

"Neither can you," the General replied as he puffed out another rising and curling trail of smoke in the room.

Arto clenched his fists and walked out of the door.

--

Arto ascended the stairs with calm, heavy steps. His mind was swirling with thoughts about General Bastienne and his plans. The old man was getting impatient and was working behind his back. This had implications. He should be ever more wary, especially now that he knew that the General has access and loyalty to his handpicked servant and soldiers inside the manor. He'd have to do something about it soon. But for now, he should see to his wife.

He was already on the third floor landing and was walking down the hallway to her room when he heard the sound of the piano playing from the music room on the second floor. He stopped and frowned, then immediately headed back towards the source of sound.

When he opened the door, his eyes were immediately caught and held by the golden tinge of Sarla's auburn hair in the light. It was gathered in a loose bind and soft curls fell free from it, accentuating the shape of her long and stately neck.

She had her back to him, and was leaning against one arm of the sofa that was turned to face the open windows. One of her attendants played the piano in one corner of the room, another sat on the floor in front of her while one of them was stood over her. They were holding wash cloths and were tending to her skin, one on her feet, the other on her arms.

The music stopped when he opened the door. Sarla turned her head to the side but did not glance back at him.

Arto walked across the room and stopped at her side. "Leave us," he said to the attendants. They bowed to him and the Princess then went out of the room.

She turned to the book that she held on her right hand, paying no mind to him. His eyes wandered over her; he would never be tired of letting his eyes roam free in the landscape of her body. She was too beautiful; too much to be true. _And so pale_, he thought as the white curtains from the nearby window fluttered toward her, their blanched color almost as white as her skin. _As if she was half-dead_.

Her hands reached for a glass of water that was left at the end table and brought it to her lips. After sipping the liquid, she returned the glass to where it had been without even looking. "I assume you came here for a reason," she said without lifting her eyes from the pages of her book.

_So graceful, so held-together, _he thought he followed her movements with his eyes. He frowned, suddenly feeling awkward. He ran words he meant to say in his head, trying to organize them into a logical delivery. First, he was angry; he should chastise her for being up and about so soon. Second, what was she doing wearing nothing but her night gown? What was she doing wearing _anything_ at all?

His frown deepened; his mind strayed too quickly. No, he was relieved that she was awake. Now he could ask her the questions that he had postponed to ask, which she should answer, or _else_. But first things first. "You should still be in bed," he said in a hardened tone.

"What do you care," she muttered. She frowned and paused, as if she had not meant to speak the words aloud.

A small smile played around his lips, but he suppressed it. She was extremely temperamental; a habit that gave her away as the spoiled little princess that she was. He liked provoking her that way.

She gracefully inclined her head to the piano. "Hearing music… helps me relax."

"Yes, I know," he replied, a little too hastily. He liked seeing her sentimental side, too.

Sarla looked up at him, her amber-colored eyes catching the golden rays of the light. There was confusion, disbelief and incredulity on her face.

Was she thinking about how he found her, those few moments before dawn? He woke with the first note that she played and followed the sound to her, to this very room. He sat by the stairs first; listening to her weave melodies as it echoed in the silent spaces still shrouded in the night.

But when the music was replaced by her suppressed sobs, he knew that he couldn't just stay in the dark for long.

"How are you feeling?" he finally asked.

A small frown formed in her forehead. "What does it matter?"

He narrowed his eyes. What a question to ask. Has he not made his care for her plain enough? She was testing his patience again. "Is it so hard to answer an inquiry regarding your health? Has the fever severely affected your brain that you cannot even answer a simple question?"

Her features hardened, "I feel better in your presence, my Lord," she replied sarcastically. "But as you said earlier, I should retire to my chambers now." She closed her book and stood up stiffly. As she did so, the blankets covering her body fell like a peeled skin of a fruit, revealing the tender body underneath.

His eyes roved around her and the semi-transparent nightgown she wore. She was wearing nothing beneath it. He frowned slightly; he could see everything there was to see, as if there was no fabric covering her skin. She should have been given warmer clothes.

He opened his mouth, about to mention something to that effect when he noticed the presence of people standing in the doorway. He frowned and reached down for the blanket that she was sitting on and wrapped it around her with a quick flick of his wrist.

Without even waiting for an invitation, General Bastienne came into the room, followed by Herv and another young woman who kept her eyes on the floor.

"Forgive the intrusion, your Highness," he began with a slight bow. "I merely wanted to wish you a fast recovery before we leave."

"No..." she said as she turned to face them fully. "It is I who should apologize, General; I was not expecting any guests, but if you would permit me a moment…"

"Oh, no, no, my dear, you should rest!" the General said, disagreeing vehemently. "We only came here to offer our congratulations to your husband," he said as he gestured to his son, who, Arto noticed, had been feasting his eyes on her again.

He suddenly felt a strong urge to split the boy's skull. Arto clenched his jaw.

"…congratulations?" Sarla asked as she looked at the General first, then to him, to Herv and finally on the young woman with them.

"Yes, your husband is now the youngest General that the Empire ever had."

"_O-Oh_," Sarla said. She turned to him and gave a little curtsey, her features emotionless. "I'm happy for you, my Lord," she said in a flat tone.

_And you couldn't even be bothered to deliver it like you mean it._ His voice hardened. "No doubt," he replied in an even tone.

Sarla ignored him and looked at the guests without expression, then he noticed her eyes glance at the young woman again, who seemed to be deciphering the mysteries etched on the hardwood floor.

General Bastienne followed her gaze and chuckled lightly. "Why, I don't believe you two have met?" he asked.

The blond haired young woman lowered her head further and turned bright red. Sarla frowned.

"Perhaps your husband should be the one to introduce you," the General offered.

_I had hoped she'd stay out of this. But if you insist._ Arto looked at Henry then at the young girl. "Come closer," he commanded. She obeyed and walked across the room, never letting her eyes wander up higher.

He glanced back at Sarla, who was studying the features of the young woman's face intently. "I'd like you to meet my daughter, Isabella," he began. Isabella gave a curtsey. _Good, _he thought as she executed the move gracefully. _At least she's learned something at that damned boarding school._

Arto looked at the two women, now standing face to face for the first time. They only had a few years difference in their ages, yet Sarla looked much more mature for her years. "Isabella, this is my new wife, the Princess Sarla."

"I'm pleased to meet you," she said as she gave a small curtsey that Isabella probably did not see, since the latter's eyes were glued to the floor.

"Well, now that introductions have been done, we dispatch one last bit of information," General Bastienne said.

Herv stepped forward and reached inside his coat to reveal a neat envelope with a delicate script and an intricate seal on the flaps.

"What is that?" Arto asked as Herv handed it to Sarla.

"An invitation," Herv answered, his eyes fixated on her, "For the promotion ceremonies in honor of Lord Benthur a ten day from now."

"You must come, your Highness," General Bastienne said. "This is the first time you'll be seeing Rosethorn Court, I assume?"

"Yes, I suppose," she said with a frown on her face. "Thank you, gentlemen, for your invitation." She handed the invitation to Arto without even opening it. "But you know that I cannot go without my husband's leave…" She turned her head sideways to him but did not meet his eyes.

"Of course we shall go together," Arto said, looking into her eyes directly. "I would be honored to take you with me and show you the beauty of our court."

Sarla looked at him strangely again, her features had a confused look that he couldn't quite place.

"Well then, we will show ourselves out," the General said as they gave a bow of deference and started to turn to the door.

"I--I will take you," came the breathless voice of Isabella as she headed away from them in as discreet a method as she could muster. _I once thought that Sarla couldn't be so different from her_, he mused as he watched them file out of the room. _I couldn't have been more wrong_, he thought as Isabella gently closed the door, keeping her eyes on the floor all the while.

Arto turned to Sarla. She was watching them leave with a detached interest. He studied her profile; she was young and beautiful, but no one would believe that she was barely into her second decade of life. There was a certain maturity in her features, as well as in the way she carried herself.

It was not just her breeding; he knew that she was still haunted by her memories. There was still that brief interlude in her life that will never be written about or mentioned ever again. That brief period contained the experiences and memories that he tried to erase. It was for her own good; he gave her another chance to start over, another chance in life. _As his wife._

Arto noticed Sarla's eyes briefly glaze over as she started to fall a step back. He caught her in time and steadied her with one arm. He frowned. _Why the hells couldn't she say that she needed help?_ He went over to her and placed one arm across her back, and bent to pick her up.

"_I just need to sit down for a moment!_" Sarla snapped at him. He immediately released her and she sank down to the sofa, leaning against the backrest. She closed her eyes.

"The next time you faint, I'll let you drop and make a fool out of yourself," he replied coldly. _Show her an act of kindness and this is how she replies?_

"I do not need your pity," she replied, then frowned. "Did we not agree to stay out of each other's lives?"

_Was she really so naïve as to believe everything that he said?_ He sighed. "And you thought that was really possible?"

Time to teach her a bit more about the ways of the world.

Sarla opened her eyes and looked at him, a confused look on her features. _Women_, he thought as he picked up the book beside her and sat down in its place. _The only thing they'll respond to is love and pain; incentive and punishment._ "Well then," he said as he adjusted his body and lay backwards, his head resting on her lap. "If you insist on staying here, then read to me."

Sarla squirmed at first. Arto closed his eyes. This type of punishment was the one he liked the most. He shifted his body weight until he found a comfortable position. "Read to me," he repeated, a little bit more forcefully.

"What?!" she replied with incredulity, as if she did not hear him the first time. "W…"

"Is my _proximity_ all it takes for you to lose your wits?"

Sarla cleared her throat a little too loudly and opened a random page in the book.

_Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me;  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality. _

Arto smirked. She was so easy to bait, especially since she rose to every challenge he put forward. She was very proud, his beautiful princess bride.

_We slowly drove, he knew no haste,  
And I had put away  
My labor and my leisure too,  
For his civility._

She began with an annoyed tone, but as the words sunk in, her voice mellowed and delivered the lines with the solemnity of the topic.

_We passed the school, where children strove  
At recess in the ring;  
We passed the fields of gazing grain,  
We passed the setting sun._

He decided that he liked her voice. He was pretty sure that it could whisper the most endearing phrases and threaten the most hardened of men and be just as effective. He closed his eyes to focus on it alone.

_Or rather, he passed us;  
The dews grew quivering and chill,  
For only gossamer my gown  
My tippet only tulle._

_We paused before a house that seemed  
A swelling of the ground;  
The roof was scarcely visible,  
The cornice but a mound._

Sarla paused, turning the page.

_Since then 'tis centuries, and yet each  
Feels shorter than the day  
I first surmised the horses heads  
Were toward eternity._

Arto slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her. She stopped reading, having reached the end of the poem. He studied the features of her face; his eyes trailing up from the swell of her breasts, to her long, graceful neck, the underside of her chin and her well-defined jaw. _Even from this angle, she still looks so beautiful,_ he thought as their eyes met; his a pale blue, hers a pale brown now.

"Death stopped for you, Sarla…" he started, slowly delivering the words while maintaining his gaze on her. _In more ways than one._

"Yes…" she said as she continued to stare at him with an unreadable expression in her eyes. "I wore the red gossamer gown, and had to put away my labor and leisure in exchange for civility."

A small smile formed on his lips. She must have been thinking that he was Death, who had to be civil to her. She was right. _In a way._

On an impulse, Arto raised his hands and palmed her face. She stiffened, and did not move as his weapon-calloused fingers grazed her soft skin. She closed her eyes as his thumb traced a trail starting from her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, to its tip, and finally to her lips, lingering on their softness.

_Such beauty_, he thought as he watched her blush at the attention. _The cause of desire and destruction… _He frowned then dropped his hand, trailing his fingers down to her neck. _Such deadliness. _His hands traced the curves of her shoulder bones, playing around the upper reaches of her chest.

She did not move; it was as if she was frozen in time. But this lingering moment would be gone. Her beauty would fade, along with everything that she had fought for, everything that she _still_ fought for. _So, Sarla_, he thought as he slowly sat up and leaned closer to her, _what are we waiting for?_

She still did not move, not even to open her eyes.

He inched in closer, feeling her warm breath as she exhaled. She parted her mouth a little, her breath quickening. Arto watched her lips tremble, and noticed the pink lines on them become more pronounced as she closed her lips again.

He leaned closer and grazed the surface of her mouth with his own. Arto smiled, watching her otherwise impassive face turn pink with desire. He felt her sigh softly, then her hands clutched his arm as she leaned back and opened herself to him.

_Knight takes Queen, _he thought as he kissed her deeply with his eyes open.He withdrew a bit, then, noticing her leaning towards him for more, he pulled away from her and stood up. _Checkmate. _He smirked. Then he withdrew, stood up and left the room without even looking back at her.

No one could ever really resist him for long.

_And she is not as strong as she thinks herself to be_.

_End Chapter 7_

_The poem that Sarla read is "Because I Could Not Stop for Death" by Emily Dickinson._

_Again, thanks to Tawni, who is a source of perseverance for my writing in this story. Sarla loves you! _

_(And like all authors, reviews are my weakness. Thank you, Lyova, for pulling this one out of me.)_


	9. The Second Dance of the Marionette

**Chapter 8:**

**The Second Dance of the Marionette**

Sarla frowned as she ran her eyes across empty spaces that came after the letters delicately written on the parchment in front of her. She sat back against her chair and sighed, put down her quill and turned to look out of the window. Through the partially opened cracks, she could see the dawn's slow approach; the mist from last night grew visible in the early, tentative rays of the sun.

She could see the blurred red and silver forms of Dhorn soldiers on the courtyard through glass panels made opaque by the recent rains. They stood still and unmoving, as stiff as the walls of the manor itself. Once, the presence of soldiers reassured her, but now it just angered her. It was a reminder that she was a prisoner; a _willing_ prisoner. _No._ She thought as she clenched her fists._ I shouldn't aggravate myself so early in the morning._ She brought her eyemas back to the papers in front of her. There was an opened book on one corner of her desk and further down were scattered sheets of attempted writing she finished already. Somewhere buried underneath all that was a letter from the Family that Pia slipped to her as they dressed her earlier. Under the pretense of writing a letter to her Father, she was now trying to compose a reply to Nathan.

Ideally, that would have been enough to occupy her mind. But she frowned and sighed, exasperated at how much effort it was taking just to concentrate on that task. She looked to the direction of the door at the side, where one of her attendants stood respectfully still; eyes lowered, waiting on her for whatever her needs could be. She was used to being surrounded with spying eyes in the mornings, when everyone was awake and secretly watched her. She worked around with that and had taken to scribbling doodles and plans at night, when they were too tired from watching her all day. But that changed now.

Last night, she was in her room ostensibly reading a book, but in reality was reviewing the plans she made for her debut at court. Suddenly, the door opened and her husband walked in.

Sarla stared at Arto for a long while, hardly believing her eyes. He was wearing a thin nightshirt and leggings, while his wavy blond locks were tied behind his head. He casually walked to her bed, leaned forward and took the book from her hands. "You shouldn't read at night," he declared in that haughty tone of his. He tossed the book at the end table and blew out the flames of the candles.

Sarla slowly exhaled the breath she was holding, silently thanking the gods that the papers between the pages did not fall out. But she wasn't in the clear yet, because Arto sat down at the end of her bed and without saying a word, laid down.

She moved away from him reflexively and found herself clutching her blankets more tightly than necessary. But he was oblivious to her discomfort; he turned to his side and ignored her. Within moments, his breathing evened and there was a high probability that he was well into the land of dreams.

She did not try to sleep; how could she? To finally have a presence in the large bed was awkward to say the least. For that someone to be one that she vowed to kill made things a lot more complicated. But sometime in the long hours that followed, somehow, sleep claimed her.

Then she was rudely shaken awake.

"_By the hells!_" she complained, turning to the direction of the hand that pushed and pulled her. "This had better be good Vi…"

"Stop snoring," Arto said, his voice still heavy with sleep.

She stopped. She had almost said Vico's name. "I wasn't—"

"You were." He declared, then he turned to his side again and placed another pillow over his head.

The next few hours were spent trying_ not_ to suffocate him in his sleep.

Sarla stifled another yawn. _I can kill him another day, right now I need to concentrate!_ She brought down her eyes at the pages of the book in front of her. She had to work more efficiently now, taking these times to communicate to the Family and think through plans. It was a good thing she was used to writing a lot of letters. Slouching a bit towards the desk so that her attendant couldn't see what she was doing, Sarla pulled out the thin parchment where the letter from the Family was written.

She ran her eyes through the words again. It was a short letter, informing her that they have heard about her upcoming debut in Rosethorn court and how they uncovered something important during the Masked Ball. No details were provided, of course, it was too dangerous in case the letter was intercepted. But they reassured her that the Family was expanding, and they grow stronger every day.

The last paragraph was something that particularly interested her:

_As for your inquiry, we found out that your new manor has quite a history. It was owned by a discredited Imperial who, based on primogeniture, should have ruled the Empire. He abdicated his claim by marrying a common woman. You should be familiar with him; you're his only surviving heir._

_My Grandfather…_ she thought as she placed her fingers at the end of the letter. A movement on once corner of the room caught her eyes. She turned to see a woman with her back to her; her blond hair reflected the sunlight that filtered through the paned windows. Slowly, the ghost turned its head towards her. _You knew who I was all along… Grandmother. _Sarla thought as their eyes met. The corner of the ghost' lips turned up in a smile, then she faded in the light.

Sarla stood up from her desk and, clutching the letter, went to the seat recently vacated by the apparition. She placed her arms on the armrest and leaned back. It made perfect sense; the feeling of comfort within the manor's walls, the magical constructs that reacted to her, her shared physical features with the ghost, the nearly unbearable feeling of missing her family… this was all because the magic of the place responded to her blood.

Or she could simply be losing her mind.

But the magic was real. She felt its nascent energy, as surely as the blood flowed through her. It called out to her in faint whispers from corners during the deadest time of the night, and in the eyes of the carved statues that seemed to follow her movement wherever she went, even that mysterious basement she knows exists, the entrance of which she still can't find. It was all there, and it was only a matter of time before she unlocks its mysteries.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes; she was safe here. But this was no reason to be complacent. She has to be on her toes to dodge whatever the situation would demand of her. Arto had changed, for one thing. Sure, he was still an insufferable bastard, but now there were simple intimacies between them that were catching her off guard. Like the misguided concerns he struggled not to express, or the desire he stirred within her…

_Gods…_ She was so sure that he would take her on their first night; had even undressed herself to prepare for that extent. But he shrugged her off and insisted on keeping separate chambers. Now that she was getting used to her cold marriage bed, she found out that last night was _not_ the first night that Arto warmed the spot beside her. He actually took care of her _personally, _sleeping beside her in her chambers, during her week-long fever.

How many times had he seen her naked now? And what was his plan? To seduce her and make her come to him instead?

_Dream on, bastard._

Her thoughts were interrupted when her sharply tuned ears heard the sound of the door open on the courtyard and the crunch of pebbles against heavy boots as more soldiers came out. Sarla turned her head to look at the blur of red and silver, blue and yellow armors through the glass panes. She squinted as one of the halberds held by a soldier glinted, reflecting the light of the sun. _I bet those blades are sharp,_ she thought as she heard their drill commander bark a command to take their positions for their weapons practice.

Sarla watched the strange blurred show in front of her; the Dhorn soldiers and her personal bodyguards faced each other and executed feints and parries with exaggerated slowness. Seen through the murky panes it reminded her of the shadow plays held for her during her bedtime when she was younger. It looked like an enchanting dance between blades; as if they were taking a leisurely break from their usual feast on the blood of the innocents.

She smiled; this was a dance that she could do extremely well. Battle always forced her to concentrate on the moment, something that she could use right about now. She stood up, resolved to engage in the activity, Dhorn-etiquette-be-damned. She has delayed her weapons practice long enough, and now was a good time to pick it up again.

She went out of her study room and rushed down the hallway. "My Lady, what is the matter?" Her attendant ran after her, bewildered. Sarla turned a corner, then stopped in her tracks. Isabella stood further ahead in the hallway. She wore her long blond hair loose and was garbed in a simple and perfectly pressed brown house robe. She was standing close to the window pane, watching the soldiers as they continued with their routine.

Sarla watched Isabella as she watched the soldiers in turn; her eyes followed their movement closely, darting from side to side. Her lips were also moving, as if she counting to herself as they moved in time.

_It's almost as if she's studying how they fight… _Sarla thought as she watched her for a while longer._ What are you up to little girl? Care to let mommy know? _Sarla smirked, and walked up to Isabella. "Good morning, my step-daughter," she announced.

Isabella jerked as she turned to her, startled by her appearance. Sarla noticed the green in her eyes before she lowered them to the floor and gave a curtsey. "Y-your highness," she started, her voice a little high-pitched from surprise, "I did not see you…"

_And if you can help it, you wouldn't either. _"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." Sarla said with every bit of cordiality she could muster. Isabella had been avoiding her like a plague ever since they were introduced a few days ago. She joined them for dinner but kept to her room and whatever hiding place she had for the rest of the day. There's something about her that Sarla couldn't quite place; she was polite and proper as hell, but there was something… off about her. She could sense it; Isabella's behavior changes whenever she thinks no one was looking, and the stares that she directs at Sarla is so intense that she could feel it even before she sees it. She considered scrying on her, but there were more urgent matters at hand than revealing the privacies of Arto's little girl. After all, she wasn't a threat. Not yet.

Sarla turned to look outside at the soldiers again. Thankfully, the glass panes in the hallway were wiped clean and she could clearly see the soldiers as they engaged in their drill. "My dear," she said as she stepped closer to her. "Perhaps you could answer a curiosity of mine?" Sarla looked at her, only to notice that she had been staring at her again. Isabella lowered her eyes immediately."Are Dhorn women taught how to wield a weapon?"

"N-no, your highness," then she paused, biting her lip. "It is _inappropriate_, they say," she hurried to say it, as if fearing to be heard by somebody else.

_So that's it._ "What utter nonsense!" she said as she flashed a brilliant smile. "It is not inappropriate to know how to defend yourself…" then she paused, hearing heavy booted steps in the hallway, she knew the sounds well enough by now.

"It is our way. The women do not fight; the men **do**." Sure enough, Arto's voice resounded in the hallway. Sarla turned to see him walking up from behind her. _That's because if they ever learned, they'd put your sorry asses in place. S_arla smiled at him then lowered herself in a curtsey. "Good morning, My Lord," she said evenly, her hopes for a normal day spent scheming sinking. She left him in bed earlier still sleeping, but she was sure she heard his departure shortly after. What was he still doing here? She noted that he was dressed in civilian attire; having only a gentleman's coat, shirt and boots. A frown appeared on her forehead when she noticed that he was not alone, the lecherous Herv trailed behind him.

Arto approached her, and for a very brief moment, the edges of his lips curled up in a smile, she thought she could see something real in his expression. Sarla chased the thought away immediately; she must be seeing things again. "It has come to my attention that I have neglected a part of your cultural education," he said as he stopped in front of her, his blue eyes catching the morning rays of the sun. "It is something which you will have to master now that you are coming to Rosethorn Court."

Sarla stifled a scoff. Is he telling her that she lacked courtly etiquette and demeanor? "And what would that be?" she said as she raised her eyes and met his glance.

"The Minuet," Arto said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me." He raised his eyebrows. "From this time on, until the time for the ceremony, we will be practicing the Minuet. Come," he took her hand and led her down the hallway.

Sarla walked along, shocked into complacency by the gentle hold of his hands. _No, not again! _She said as she planted her feet firmly on the ground and refused to move. Like hell was she going to let him get away with silencing her with just his touch. She needed a diversion, something, anything to reinforce her will over his. Her mind raced as her eyes rested on the sight of the soldiers outside.

Then she turned back to him and met his glare, "Since my Lord is so keen on my education, I should let you know that there is another matter that has suffered your neglect, which is equally important, especially in Betancurian Court," she said carefully but firmly, her voice ringing out in the halls.

Arto frowned dangerously, but waited for her to speak.

"It also a form of a dance, and it would be highly unfair of you if you refuse to allow me to practice it since I will oblige you the Minuet."

"Say it simply. I have little patience in your diversions," he whispered in a low voice, his grip on her hand tightening.

Sarla narrowed her eyes, "I refer to a dance with blades, My Lord. You are a soldier, you should understand this."

Arto turned his head to the soldiers who were practicing outside then turned back to Sarla, "Did you not hear what I just said? The women do not fight…"

"_Dhorn_ women do not fight. I was not born or raised as one, I trained daily until the Fever took me, and I will continue to get sick until my resistance is raised by physical exertions." She raised her chin defiantly. "Traditionally, Betancurian women spar with their partners and fight side by side during times of strife." Arto opened his mouth to say something but Sarla cut him off. "But if you feel unequal to the task, My Lord, I will ask the next ranking officer after you to spar with me instead," Sarla said as she turned to Herv, who had been watching their exchange with amused interest.

Arto's expression became unreadable. He looked at her for a few heartbeats then he leaned in and whispered to her. "You will regret challenging me." His hands let go of hers and closed around her arm. He pulled her along in a rushed walk and pushed her through the door he opened which led to the dance room.

He closed and locked the door behind him. The door knob rattled after a few seconds, perhaps it was Herv trying to gain access, but they did not hear him call and the door did not move again.

Sarla turned around and met Arto's gaze. He stood there for a while, studying her; he looked at her strangely, calmly, despite the threat that had earlier escaped his lips. Then he advanced toward her with ease. "You really wish to fight me?" he asked simply, stopping a few paces in front of her.

"I wish to regain my strength," she responded haughtily. "As I said…"

He slapped her soundly, catching her unaware. Sarla's head turned to her side; the force of the blow caused her ears to ring, and in a matter of seconds the red mark of his hand appeared in her face. She did not turn back to face him immediately, shock evident on her face. She raised her left hand and touched her stinging cheek, then she slowly brought her eyes up and looked at him as she felt hot tears run down her cheek.

Arto gazed back at her calmly; looking as if nothing happened. He continued starting at her for a while. Then he spoke; "You should know better than to allow others to glimpse the rifts between us."

Sarla opened her mouth and felt it tremble. The words were jumbled in her head. She wanted to scream at him, break his calm demeanor and burn him to a crisp. _How __**dare**__ he?!_ And how could she allow him to surprise her like that? Did he think he could get away with it? She wanted to reflect the pain a thousandfold. And she could do this, she knew, but then if she did all her planning would fall apart, and she will never rise to power on her own, as a foreigner in these lands. She needed him. She needed him _alive_. She closed her eyes and called up all her willpower as more tears ran down her cheek from both her eyes. In her mind, she imagined creating a form for her seething anger. She turned it into a crystal and stored it away for use at a later time. She cannot do anything now. She would need to act calmly and rationally; she has to ingratiate herself to him so that she can destroy him completely, when the time came.

But now was not the time. He will love her first, then she will use that love to _destroy_ him.

"Restraint. Good, you will need that." He eyed her, his eyes like clear ice.

Sarla's lips quivered with the words she struggled to hold back. "Do not… treat me like a child," she finally said, her voice shaking.

"Then stop acting like one," he said as his fingers brushed the hair that fell across her cheek. He slowly pulled away the hand that covered her cheek and replaced it with his own palm. His blue eyes regarded her face, following the trail of tears as they flowed down. He stepped forward and, as gently as if he was holding glass, he pulled her closer until her head was at the crook of his neck.

"I will never apologize for the things I've done," he said as he ran down one hand across her hair and fingered the braid that held them together. He nestled his head against hers and inhaled softly.

"Nor will I ever forgive you…" she whispered as she felt his fingers leave their trail down her arm and enclosed her hand.

"So be it," he said as he pulled away and brought up her hands in his. "Let's dance."

+ [ - ] - [ - ] - [ - ] - [ - ] - [ - ] +

The minuet was a dance that relied on the subtlety of touch; the only point of contact allowed between partners was with their hands. The fingers are interlaced as bodies stepped forward and back, turned sideways and front, separated for a moment, then met again. They would always be an arms length apart, and sometimes, they would circle each other trading laces with the other people beside them, but they would never lose sight of the other. And their fingers would always find their way back to each other. It was a slow, and repetitive dance, but it was graceful.

Sarla regarded the man who held her hands. He stood tall and proud, never taking his gaze off her. He wore the purple robes of a civilian, perfectly pressed and decorated with medals and ribbons that he earned in service to the crown. Tonight, he tied back his blond locks and his eyes burned bright. He seemed to swell with pride; and that youthful arrogance made him look like his years again. He actually smiled once in a while, in acknowledgment of a greeting, or to hail another person in the room. He did not look cold or cruel, no, those were looks were reserved for her exclusive viewing.

The dance concluded, and the applause that resounded in the room brought her back to minding the environment around her. Still holding the other through their hands, they bowed to each other and to the others who had shared their line in the dance. Sarla straightened up and allowed her eyes to wander the great walls of Rosethorn Castle. The high, curved ceiling reached far beyond the second floor and was held aloft by carved marble statues of half naked men as pillars. On the very ceiling itself were carvings of clouds and the figures and faces of angels who watched them below. The walls were blinding in its whiteness, but starting from the second floor to their level, the walls were alive with the dancing colors of reflected light from the candles and magical braziers that lighted the room. It was, in a word, breathtaking; the room was a true testament to the grandeur of the Dhorn Empire. Surely this was a suitable replacement for her own lost kingdom? _Yes, it will have to do._

She brought her eyes back down and caught Arto looking at her body. He met her glance and the edges of his lips curved slightly in a smile. She frowned and looked away; something in his expression reminded her of the way Vico looked at her when she wore one of those skimpy armors he loved taking off. _Getting horny all by ourselves, are we? Pfft. Men. _

She licked her dry lips unconsciously and looked at Arto again; she was thirsty, having danced for 3 consecutive turns and with the same movements. She suspected that she was going to be paraded around like a trophy loot from another kingdom, and had even prepared speeches in the unlikely case that she would be allowed to speak. But this wasn't in the plan, it seems. Tonight, they intended to bore her to death. But she wasn't going to let the night pass through without meeting the Imperial Family. Not if she could help it. She started to walk towards Arto, resolved to be introduced to them and leave a lasting impression. Sarla had already seen the Empress from afar; sitting alone at her throne in front of the room. The throne for the Emperor and Imperial Prince was empty on either sides. She found this to be strange. Where were the males to assert their ascendancy? But she'll find out sooner or later. She just needs the chance to speak to one who can provide her information.

She inclined her head up as she reached Arto, only to see that he was no longer looking at her, but at something behind her. "Stay in the sidelines for a while," he said without looking at her. "What?" Sarla asked, her eyes narrowing.

But Arto walked on, not even sparing her a glance or a reply. He left her standing; walking to join a gathering of men in a circle at the center of the room. The people cleared the dance hall to give way to them. _What was happening? Wait… why do I care? This is my chance!_ Sarla turned and almost bumped into three women who had been waiting for the opportunity to pounce on her.

"My dear, you look absolutely _stun_ning!" cried Lady Greenfork as they took her arms and claimed her exclusively for their group.

Sarla pasted a smile on her face as she looked at the women. "Lady Greenfork, Lady Du Blanc, Lady Bastienne," she greeted them with a curtsey. Then she spotted a glimmer of blond hair and saw that Isabella stood behind them as well, keeping a respectful distance, as always.

"Well, let us _look_ at you!" Lady Greenfork said as they stepped back and studied her attire. Sarla's red tresses were pinned up so as to reveal her face in front, but was braided and allowed to trail down at her back. She wore an emerald green silk gown which brought out the golden tinge of her eyes and clung comfortably to her, emphasizing her curves. It was cut low at the back, the 'v' cut ending right above her waist. Arto had provided her jewels to wear for the event, so she wore a golden necklace, belt and an arm bracelet plus two other ornamental rings set with yellow stones to match her eyes. He had even presented a tiara place on her head but Sarla drew the line and said that she will only wear the crown that she inherited.

"You were dancing superbly," Lady Sylvana Du Blanc said approvingly to her. Lady Greenfork bobbed her head in agreement.

_Oh gods, I have to get away from these women. _"Thank you for your compliment," Sarla replied. "I did not think, with the multitude of people who are present today, you would still notice me among them."

"Oh, my dear, you and your husband are so alike. You need not be _so_ humble!" Lady Greenfork chided her. She made a grand display of waving her arms at an arc to refer to the others "A lot of these people came to see you; word of your beauty has preceded your arrival to our lands. Look around, most of the eyes are on you. And you do not disappoint. When you danced, everyone clapped, and when the dance was over, no one wanted to leave your side."

"Even our husbands can't take their eyes off you. We were getting a little jealous." Lady Bastienne said.

_And sons, you forgot the sons. _Sarla silently added as she batted her eyes and smiled at them. "Well, I am glad that my efforts did not go to waste. I am afraid though, that they have taken their toll; I'm dreadfully thirsty. If you would excuse me, I'm afraid I can no longer wait for one of the traybearers to come around, I simply must find relief for my throat."

"We will accompany you," Lady Greenfork said as she held on tighter to Sarla's arm.

"I would not want to burden you," she said with a pleading and guilty smile as she gently disentangled herself from her grasp. "My step daughter is here," she said as she inclined her head toward Isabella. "I would appreciate… some time to get to know her better," she whispered to the ladies while looking at them in the eye. Lady Bastienne nodded approvingly.

Without lifting her eyes, Isabella replied "Of course, your highness,". Sarla looked at her in time to see an uncharacteristic expression on her face; was that a small smile that graced her lips? It was gone in a blink.

Before the ladies could object, Sarla curtseyed and started to follow the lead of the younger girl. The crowd parted to make way in front of them, then came back together as if to bar further passage. As soon as they were out of earshot, Sarla's hand found its way to Isabella's arm. "Thank you," she whispered to her. "I am fond of them, but I am parched and in this state, I can never hope to best their stamina when it comes to talking," Isabella gave a shy smile. "You are… welcome, your highness,"

"Call me Sarla," she said as she brushed away Isabella's straight blond locks that covered most of her face. "I won't even try to replace your mother, but I hope we can be friends."

Isabella stopped and looked at her, her green eyes wide with astonishment. In a few seconds, they were lined with tears, then she remembered herself and brought her eyes back down. "I… am sorry."

"Why do you apologize?" Sarla thought as she let go of her arm. She stopped to face her. With slanted green eyes, straight blond hair and a lean build, Isabella looked beautiful. But she cowed too often and apologized too much. She lacked the confidence to bend men into submission.

"N.. no, it's not that. I am grateful." then she glanced at the corner of her eyes and said. "But this is not the proper…"

"One of these days, we shall talk then. You and I," Sarla said as she smiled at her and looked around them. The girl was prudent. This was good. But first she needs to find out where her loyalties lie, and what her interest was in all this. Sarla looked around and realized at that moment, that no one was paying any attention to them anymore. The crowd had gathered in lines around the ballroom floor, with their backs turned in their direction. Sarla looked at the direction of their stare and, for a brief moment, the bodies in front parted and she glimpsed a woman dancing with a gray haired man who wore the same robe as Arto.

Sarla frowned and approached the sidelines to get a better view. After getting a better view, she realized the focus of the crowd's rapt attention; the Empress, who had earlier sat as still as a statue, distant and lonely on her throne was now dancing in the middle of the room, surrounded in a circle by men who stood at rapt attention. Her frown deepened; what was this ritual that her husband neglected to share? Was this what he left her for? The music turned up when the Empress stopped dancing with the man and was replaced by another who was eager to hold her as well.

"Are you wondering what they're doing?" a deep and friendly voice observed from her side. Sarla turned to see that a tall and handsome stranger has addressed her.

He smiled as their gaze met, his hazel eyes holding her amber ones. Sarla glanced down his garment and found no medals whatsoever. She felt a mixture of amusement and annoyance; did he know who she was? Her title was announced as soon as they entered the gates, everyone turned and the room fell silent as they beheld her, but none dared approach to introduce themselves until now. "Is it customary in Rosethorn Court to address those you would otherwise be a stranger to?" She replied a little curtly.

The stranger smiled again, and did not seem to take offense. "If we always stuck to that etiquette, My Lady, a lot of people would remain strangers, when they could be friends. But do forgive my manners and allow me to introduce myself. My name is Luce." He politely bowed and lifted his head again. "Allow me to make amends."

Sarla couldn't decide whether she should frown or smile. It was unusual for a nobleman to introduce himself with only his name; usually it was followed by titles and an exaggerated account of his birth, whenever appropriate. "How so?" she asked, raising an eyebrow instead.

"Water for parched throats are always a good start," he said as he offered her to choose between two glasses that he held in his hands.

Sarla frowned. How did he know what she needed? And when did those glasses get into his hands? Was he the serving boy perhaps? Sarla studied his profile; he was very well-groomed, without a trace of facial hair on his features, and wore black robes that absorbed light. There were no medals or any adorations on his attire; only a large ring set with an onyx stone he wore on his right ring finger. He looked elegant and refined, and there was something about his aura that said that he cannot be just a serving boy. He was strikingly handsome but there was a warmth in his eyes that reassured her. He wasn't a threat; Sarla relented and took one glass from what he offered.

Luce smiled and drank from the glass he was left with.

Sarla brought the stem of the glass to her lips and took a sip, careful to sense any irregularities in the liquid. There were none. "Well met, Luce," she said as she brought her glass down. "My name is Sarla. And yes, I was wondering what is happening," she said as she turned back to look at the spectacle before her. The crowd had parted, and they could see the dance clearly now.

"Allow me to satiate your curiosity, then. What you see is a dance between the Empress and the Generals of the Empire."

"So all of them are Generals?" Sarla looked at the group again and spotted General Bastienne, or at least someone who looked like him from afar, and a few other older men. Arto stood with his back to her, but she could tell it was him because of his blond hair and his body's build. So General Bastienne was not lying when he said that Arto was the youngest to be admitted in their group. In fact, he seemed to be the only one who didn't have grey hair.

"Yes. All of them have distinguished themselves by an exemplary service to crown and country. This is one of the traditional dances the Imperial family observes during formal events. It is called _The Soldier Comes Home_."

"Oh…" Sarla said as she studied the dancing form of the Empress again. She looked beautiful; her hair was black, and it was pinned up over her head along with the crown that she wore. She had just finished dancing with one General and now Arto had stepped up to take her hands. They moved as one, dancing around the circle where the other Generals stood, unmoving. The whole ritual seemed devoid of life or excitement. The Empress had her chin lifted up, all grace and poise, and did not speak; she moved around easily as if this was a routine she could very well do even with her eyes closed.

_Interesting,_ Sarla thought as she continued to watch them. _The Imperial family honors the military. This puts them in line, especially if they're always competing with each other to win the Imperial favor. _Back in Betancuria the tradition was a little different; the royalty, especially the heir, was expected to distinguish themselves in the military. Her own father recounted tales of stories when he was younger and had hired out as a mercenary group and served on military campaigns in other countries to earn this distinction. That was how he met her mother, in Dhorn lands. This was at a time shortly before the civil wars erupted. Her parents met as two strangers, without regard for rank or title.

Just like her situation with the man who stood beside her now.

She turned to him and found him studying her features. He offered a smile as he met her eyes. "We have a lot of traditional dances," he continued, then paused and eyed her strangely. As if remembering himself, he offered to take her now empty glass and, with a raise of one of his hands, a waiter came forward to retrieve the glasses. He did this with such ease that Sarla looked up at him again and wondered about his rank. "There _is_ one dance that's particularly relevant at this moment." He turned to fully face her. "It's called _The Storm has Arrived_."

"What?" Sarla asked, a little surprised. _Another dance based on a storm… Is it a coincidence?_ She studied him again; he had long salt pepper colored hair that was tied neatly behind his back, warm hazel eyes, which were almost golden in certain slants of light. His eyes bore through hers as if he could see her soul. And his lips were wide; the lower lip was curved like a bow, as if inviting a well placed kiss. Sarla frowned as realization hit her. _The stranger in the rain…! No, he couldn't be…_ "I…" she hesitated. "…am curious as to what it's about," she said as she reclaimed her composure. _I shouldn't jump into conclusions. But if he is who I think he is…_

"I am happy enough to oblige," he said offering an easy smile. "It's the second dance of a series. A _Prelude to the Storm_ is about two strangers, who's dreamt of each other their whole lives. They finally meet, under the dark canopy of storm clouds. In the darkness and in the rain, they share a dance and a kiss,"

_It's him._ Sarla looked away but she could feel the warmth in her cheeks as she continued to listen. He paused, as if noticing her discomfort "_The Storm has Arrived_ is when they meet again among a crowd of strangers, and recognize each other. They also find out that they've known the other all their lives."

Sarla glanced at him and she could see the intensity that burned like fire in his eyes. "Known each other…? Lu…ce…?" She paused and frowned. _No, no, no. He was a thief! Or a voyeur! Not a… _Long buried memories came back to her, heaps of letters exchanged with a boy she could not remember meeting; the closest thing she had to a childhood friend. Someone who, like her, could talk of their hopes and dreams, responsibility and privilege, unique to the position they were born in. The boy who had insisted of being called Luce instead of the full name and title that everyone addressed him with. Her eyes searched his face for something that she recognized. There was no mistaking it now. This was the boy that she had written to, all those years ago. He has grown into a man that she met at the Masked Ball, whose lips she kissed, while raindrops fell down all around them.

He was also the Imperial Prince of the Dhorn Empire.

"I…" Words failed her. Sarla lowered her eyes and did not look at him, suddenly feeling the urge to hide like a child.

A shy smile formed in Luce's lips; then, unable, to meet her eyes, he got down on one knee, and gazed up at her instead. There was no embarrassment or expectation on his face, only a calm readiness. He offered his hand to her and spoke clearly, steadily. "Would you honor me with a dance, Princess Sarla Lyanna?"

Her mouth opened slightly, unable to believe his bold gesture. Sarla looked at the corner of her eyes to see that the crowd of onlookers they previously part of was no longer there. The people had moved back a few meters away and watched with reverent interest, some with open envy.

She felt tears well up in her eyes but she closed them before they could fall. She smiled ironically; she did not have to do anything at all. Their paths were bound to meet, because the fates were not done playing with her just yet. She found her voice and looked at him straight in the eye. "I would be honored to, Prince Louise Cecil," she responded as she placed her hand on his open palm.

Luce's expression was serious as he stood up, he stepped closer to her and gently kissed her cheek. Before he stepped back, he whispered in her ear. "Beautiful stranger, I've dreamt of someone like you…"

"Someone… so kind and warm…" Sarla continued as the world grew silent around them, "So easy… to _love_,"

_End Chapter 8_

**--**

Happy holidays everyone!Again, thank you to my betareader** Tawni**, for her continuing support and patience. She's the best! :D

And... I'm very sorry it took quite a while for this chapter to come out. I've been quite lazy. Rest assured though that this holiday season I plan to write as much as I can, so that Sarla's story will be concluded once and for all. We're nearly halfway done. Hehe.

As always, reviews are much appreciated.


	10. The Seeker, Seer, The Renegade Prince

A / N: **This scene takes place **_**years**_** before the events in the last chapter.** Think of it as the prologue to the 2nd arc of the story. And I'm really sorry for the length of time it's taking between chapters. I have a bad habit of composing a chapter, obsessing about it, stashing it away and… and… procrastinating. But your prods and reviews help break the habit, and are much appreciated as always. : )

Chapter 9:  
**The Seeker, The Seer, The Renegade Prince**

A young boy, a few years shy of his first decade, placed his palm against the large, heavy wood in front of him and pushed. The door refused to budge, even after he turned and used his shoulders.

"Your imperial highness!" an attendant cried when he spotted the boy's struggles. The older man was beside him immediately, lending strength to his efforts. The door groaned in protest as its hinges gave way and opened up to a wide blue sky and a spacious stone balcony. The darkness of the hall retreated as bright sunlight flooded through the hallways, bathing the marble floors with its glorious light.

The little boy stood still at first, squinting as he waited for his eyes to adjust. He heard the approaching steps of his other attendants, and, holding his hands up to shield his eyes, he stepped outside.

"My prince, wait _please!_" The boy's head turned at the voice, but kept his back to them. "I wish to be alone," he replied calmly as his shoulder length dark brown hair cascaded to hide half of his face. He heard the hinges of the old door creak again as the attendant withdrew his hand, letting the door slowly close on its own. They understood and obeyed; they had no choice.

As soon as he heard the door settle into place, the boy slowly sank down to the cold stone floor. He closed his eyes and leaned in his head against his knees as he breathed in the cool afternoon air. After a few moments of silence, the features of his face relaxed, and he turned his head to one side slightly, as if listening for something.

"_I pity you… that's why,_" came a voice as smoothly as the breeze that stirred his hair. The boy sighed and opened his eyes, though he did not look up yet. He had come to expect these intrusions now, during his most private of moments. Who was it this time? What would he see? He lifted his head to see a young man sitting in front of him, his position a mirror of his own. The long strands of his white hair touched the floor, and the large crown with its set jewels glittered atop his head with the afternoon sun. Calm golden eyes regarded him closely.

_It's him again…_ the boy thought as he regarded the older man. There was silence between them, though he could hear the city beyond the castle buzz with activity. Various sounds wafted upon the breeze and reached them; a shout of salute from a soldier, the whispered giggles of the courtiers, a passing carriage. His slowly beating heart. Through the rails of the balcony he could see the tops of the buildings beyond and the white lines of the road between earth hued buildings as they dipped and curved, wove together and separated, like water making its way to the sea beyond. All was peaceful. It was just another day in the capital of the strong empire.

And yet here he was, sitting in front of a man would could easily be just a product of his imagination; just a ghost persistently haunting his waking world.

"Not again… _please_…" the young boy whispered. His own eyes glinted golden in the fading light of the afternoon sun. "I don't want to _see_ anymore…"

"_This was our burden to bear_," the voice came softly again, though the other man never opened his mouth. His eyes were as clear as golden steel, but his voice carried a deep sadness. His purple robes clung and floated all around him like water. His poise, even as he sat with his knees in front of him like that was perfect, as if he could easily make the floor his throne.

"Then I _want_ to see _some_thing that makes it easier!" the boy cried out, shaking his head.

The young king lowered his golden eyes and the tiniest of smiles pulled at the edge of his bow-shaped lips. _"There was… a possible future. She was the only one… but she should be stronger still." _Then the calm façade of the white-haired young man broke, and he frowned, as if to cry. He swiftly turned his head to one side as his white hair closed like curtains to cover his face. "_I lost her…" _he said in a broken voice._ "But you have a chance to make it right._" He lifted his head and looked straight at the young boy with intensity in his golden eyes. _"You __**still**__ have a chance…" _Then without warning, the young king reached out and touched the boy's forehead, right between his eyes.

Then it started. The boy's eyes dilated and his golden irises were drowned out by darker depths of his pupils. His surroundings darkened and night soon enveloped him, bringing the rain with it. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was alone again. Raindrops fell; but he never felt its cold trail on his skin. He stood up and extended his hand, attempting to catch a bead of water, but they passed through his open palm.

He felt nothing.

"_Beautiful stranger…_" A voice came to him from a distance, soft and gentle, like a wave making its way to shore. He looked up to see a woman with a masked face standing before his very eyes, as if she had been there all along. She continued to move her mouth, saying more but no sound came. All he could hear was a thousand furious hands clapping as raindrops fell to the ground.

He couldn't see her clearly in the faint light that filtered through the heavy rain clouds. But her cat-like eyes shone as if they had a fire of their own. She was drenched by the rain he could not feel; his eyes trailed further down to the heavy swell of her breasts, and to her extended arm, which, he realized was held by his own. They were linked tenuously; his fingers were around her insubstantial wrist, though he could not feel it. Her form reminded him of smoke; transparent and extremely elusive. _How beautiful…_ He thought as he marveled at her slender wrist and her expressive mouth that was still moving, even if he couldn't hear her words.

What was this future? He wondered and searched her eyes for answers. This was the first time that he was seeing it. Who was she? Was she part of his future?

The vision flickered and the sounds ceased altogether. _No! Not yet!_ He thought as he focused his will and concentrated. He wanted to see a little bit more of what _this_ future would look like, even if it never came to pass. Perhaps if he concentrated hard enough, he might even be able to really touch her. Wasn't she freezing? The white garment of her cloth clung tightly against her skin, and there wasn't much of it to cover all of her. She was dressed like a hunter, the leathers and fur displayed to show off her kill to the world, but here under the rain, she looked no better than a lost cat.

"…_love…_" She finished speaking, her voice returning at the end. He may never know the entirety of what she said, but it did not matter. All he could focus on were her pleading eyes, though what she was asking for, he did not know. He looked at their joined hands. "I don't understand…" he said, hoping his voice would reach her, even across time. "Do you want me to let you _go_?"

She didn't answer, but he felt something tug at his heart and he knew that it was true. "And if I don't?"

She shook her head, and lowered her eyes. Her visage became thinner, as if she was going to fade with the wind. "_Then you will lose me..._"

"I still don't understand... But..." he stepped closer to her. "If I do as you wished, will you come to me?"

She lifted her eyes, those piercing, amber-colored eyes and looked at him, really _looked_ at him, for the first time. He felt a chill run up his spine. Such an intense regard. "It's better this way," she said as she held his gaze steadily. "Let me go."

"Why is it so _hard_ to hold on to you?" he responded, growing frustrated. His voice sounded different now, deeper, but he was sure that it was his all the same. "Everytime I think that I have secured your place beside me, _you_..." She pulled her hands away.

The rain stopped, and he lifted his eyes to see that the woman's mask was gone, but her head was titled to one side, as if she was hiding her face. Now she was dry, dressed in a comfortable house robe. Her hair was braided and ran down the length of the left side of her body. She stepped away and turned her back to him, as if to hide her face, "Perhaps... it was never meant to be."

"I _know_..." he responded. "That's why I'm trying _so_ hard..." He stepped forward, closer to her, and the city beyond them started to burn. He looked up, bewildered as he started to feel the heat of the flames around him. He looked at her again and saw that she was now leaning against the balcony, bright against the dark landscape as if she were on fire herself.

_"Would you have understood?"_ There was a moment of silence as a breeze, one that he _felt_ pass through them and lift the edges of her auburn curls. Her tattered gown swayed gently with the breeze, but there was no comfort in this short respite. She looked weary and dejected, like a bird that has lost its wings and can never again take to the skies.

But more so in this moment than anytime else, she looked breathtakingly beautiful. He could finally see all of her face, and he was certain that she was the most beautiful woman that would ever live. She was troubled, he knew, and close to being shattered into a thousand pieces. Her eyes were like embers reflecting the dying flames within herself and the turmoil of her emotions. Tears streamed down freely down her reminded him of that proverbial swan at that moment, about to let out a beautiful, haunting song before dying in the night.

_"_Would you… walk away?_" _she whispered and the breeze stopped. This was it, he thought, the last thread that will either break her or pull her back together. Everything was still, and the very world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his answer. He knew that his next words would change his life forever.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before the words came out, the bubble broke. It was afternoon again, the last rays of the sun surrounded him and he was back in the quiet balcony. He was disoriented and blinked slowly, struggling to find traces of the smoke that made up her form. But they were gone. And he must have been standing there for sometime because the evening chill had begun to creep in. He shivered involuntarily.

"Louis," a deep but unmistakably female voice spoke from behind him. He froze in his movements, a little startled. Then he slowly turned to acknowledge her. His mother stood in front of the door, her long black hair arranged in a chignon with strands that twirled and adored her neckline. Wine colored eyes scrutinized him almost harshly, but she took a deep breath and a flicker of concern broke through her cold exterior. How long had she been standing there?

"What are you do--," she started to say then stopped, looking closely at him. Her features evened and she took a step closer to him. "Did you… _see_ something again?" she asked delicately.

He recovered quickly, blinking his golden eyes until only the soft brown of hazel remained. Then he glanced up at her defiantly. He now remembered the reason why he had walked out in the first place. "What are you doing here?" he asked with a frown on his face.

Something like relief showed briefly in her features, but it was quickly covered with a mysterious smile. "Does a mother need a reason to look for her son?" she replied in a lilting voice. "We have guests, Louis. Your Father wants you by his side. As the Imperial Prince you know that it is your place to…" she stopped herself and shook her head, placing her hands on her hip. "Well, I don't have to be a _seer_ to know your answer to that. Nevermind. Why do I even bother? Come inside now. I'll take care of them myself."

There was something in the way that she spoke and held back her words that made him regard her closely. She seemed… pleased, though she tried to hide it. And there was a lingering anxiety visible in the way that she crossed her arms, one hand gripping the arm of the other too tightly. But why, he wondered, why was she agitated?

Acting on impulse was something he rarely did, but the events of that afternoon had piqued his curiosity. "What is their name...?" he asked before he fully understood his reason for asking.

She raised an eyebrow, as if such a thing was absurd. "You know that I do not care to remember." She frowned as soon as the words left her mouth.

The young boy tilted his head to one side, regarding her confusing reply. "You misunderstood me, mother. Who are they that their arrival would warrant our attention?"

At this, she smiled indulgently, but her smile did not reach her eyes. "A royal family from a Kingdom to the south," she finally said. "Again, I don't know what country. But they do have… a distant acquaintance with our line."

He found his thoughts drifting back to the words of the young king. He was gone now, though he knew that he would see him again. '_She was the only one… but she should be stronger still,'_ he said. Was he referring to the stranger in the rain? He closed his eyes, trying to catch an echo of her words. '_Would you… walk away?'_ Perhaps her words were meant for his future, the man who he would yet become. But it could also have been her question to him now.

And perhaps she was waiting for his reply, years forward in the future.

"If Father wants me, very well, I will… follow." He sighed resignedly. Did he even have a choice? This was his future after all, how could he simply walk away? Perhaps she would make his life interesting; their beginning under a storm, and their end in a city in flames. Her life would be exciting, he knew. And she was extremely beautiful. Perhaps she would be strong enough for him. Perhaps that future _with her_ would be worth fighting for.

Luce followed his mother's steps as she stepped through the doors and into the darkness of the hallway lined with heavy curtains. He followed her blindly, content to be in her shadow until she stopped and curtseyed. He lifted his eyes, and the first thing he noticed was a young toddler perched in her mother's arms a few steps away. Dark auburn hair, which reminded him of the color of sunsets before a storm descends, was tied back with red ribbons. The curls bounced as she turned her head to him. Odd amber-colored irises of the child eyed him sleepily from her perch in her mother's arms.

In his ears, the last words of his future resounded again. _You have a chance to make it right… _

_You __**still **__have a chance…_

_End Chapter 9_

_Much love to __**Tawni**__, for beta-reading the chapter and putting up with all the other 'etcs' that find their way into my emails. Seriously, I don't know how I'd ever finish this without her. *hugs*_


	11. The String of Destiny

**A/N**: Arto and Luce gave me hard time in this chapter. Men are so hard to write! XD  
**WARNING:** Quite a few POV shifts in this chapter. Also, plenty of stuff unsuitable for children.

**Chapter 10:  
The String of Destiny  
**

The firmness of her hand and the warmth from her palm resting on his was enough to dispel any lingering doubts that he was dreaming. This was _real_. It was not a vision, not another passing flight of fancy. And it was unfolding right before his eyes.

Luce strode forward, leading Sarla to the center of the white marble dance floor. She followed silently, her eyes lowered and head slightly tilted to one side. It all seemed so easy, he thought as he watched her; her footsteps following his, the length of her green silk gown covering the ground he passed through only seconds before.

He could never look away from her now. He wanted to touch the tufts of hair that flowed free from the elaborate braid which crowned the top of her head. He longed to capture her amber eyes and stare into their depths, but she kept them lowered. _What was she looking at? _He looked down again and followed her trail of sight, focusing on the shadows their forms cast on the white floor. The polished marble sparkled like a mirror and showed an inverted world, reflecting the world above.

He could see two shadows, gliding a path through a brilliant cloudy sky. _As if this was heaven, and we were earthbound creatures, daring to float across. _

Was this the highpoint before everything comes crashing down?

He lifted his eyes and scanned the gathering of people that surrounded them, storm clouds gathering on the edges of his vision. They all looked on, anticipating the wrong move that would have made all their waiting worthwhile. _Like a dog that waits on scraps of attention._

He turned away and brought his eyes back to Sarla. _And what of you? What is your place, little lost feline?_ They've reached the center of the ballroom so he stopped walking and turned to fully face her. She still kept her eyes on the floor; her expression hard to read. Had she withdrawn back within herself? He lifted his finger and gently lifted her chin. Her amber colored eyes lifted and settled on him.

He smiled and she quickly looked elsewhere. "Everyone's watching us…," she said as she cast her eyes downward again. She turned her head to the side and a shadow fell over her face.

He felt the heaviness in her heart. "You are sad," he said, frowning a bit. Sarla looked up at him and an expression of wonder briefly crossed her features. "I just… thought of home," she admitted. "You should have seen it," she said with a thin smile before she lowered her eyes again and the smile faded.

_She speaks as if all has been lost._ His hands clenched. _That's not true._ "Tonight is a night of celebration," he whispered. "Do not waste your time on thoughts of the past, or even of the future. Think on the moment. _Be with me_." He took her hand in his and lifted it to his lips, kissing it gently. "Shall we give them a show?" Luce smiled again, then he raised his head and stepped back a little, never letting go of her hand. He lifted her left hand with his right and placed them on his shoulder, while his other hand settled on her waist, right before where the cut ended on her dress. He could feel her warm skin beneath his open palm. Dear gods, how he wanted to feel _more_. He stepped closer to her than necessary. He would not let her out of his sight tonight.

"I think I can handle that," she said as the beginning of a wide smile appeared in her face. The music started; the orchestra began their musical serenade, gently, slowly, like a river emptying out to sea. Sarla instinctively looked up at the second floor where the musician was playing. Luce's smile grew as expressions of puzzlement, recognition, and finally amazement appeared on her face.

Sarla brought her eyes back down to him with amused eyes. "This is…!"

"_The Princess' Waltz_, yes," he finished. "Composed in honor of a Princess with effortless grace and beauty. _You_." With that, he led her, as they slowly eased into the familiar square step pattern of the waltz.

Sarla frowned and smiled at the same time, forming a bemused expression. "You flatter me," Sarla said as they completed the turn and repeated the process.

"Do I?" Luce said as he lifted one eyebrow. "When we sent a court contingent to celebrate with yours on your 14th birthday, we expected that they would come back." He mocked disapproval. "As it was, only the apprentice bard had a good sense to return. On the other nobles we had to use more… _persuasive_ measures." Sarla chuckled, shaking her head. "That seemed so long ago, I barely remember," she whispered in a barely audible voice.

Luce smiled at her. "Shall I remind you then? But for now, let us finish this waltz. I would not presume to inflict our customs upon you Highness, when yours are fascinating enough on their own."

She smiled wistfully, sadness threatening to take over once again. But Sarla shook her head and smiled at him, "Do not worry about me, your Imperial Majesty, I can manage a little diversity."

"Oh I do not doubt, Highness," Luce said as he gently guided her into turn where she pulled away for a bit. When she was back in his arms, he continued, "I've never seen anyone dance the Minuet so gracefully before. Such a boring dance was turned into something riveting. And now this waltz. Is there anything you don't do well?"

"Such a blatant _attempts_, my Prince," she replied in a mock snide voice. "Careful. I might think that you're trying to endear yourself to me."

He laughed at her reply. "Trying?" A smile tugged at one corner of his lips. "I was under the assumption that I was succeeding. Obviously I have not tried hard enough."

She laughed and everything was alright again. _How __**good**__ this feels,_ he thought as they continued to cover ground with their dance. No expectations, reassurances, or anything of the kind, there was only the two of them at that moment, dancing to timeless tune.

_Yes, this is how it should be. _Arms outstretched, one hand firmly on her waist, the other gently carrying the weight of her palm. Their steps fell so easily with each others as their banter continued, gliding through the room, oblivious to those around them.

_Only with you_, Luce thought as he led Sarla into another turn and easily caught her in his arms again._ So radiant, my Lady_.

_So easy to love._

_

* * *

_

The dance eventually came to an end. He was loathe to let her go. The musical crescendo still resounded in the room when they halted their movements. He studied her; the smile upon her lips, her flushed cheeks, the sparkle in her amber eyes. It took all of his willpower to resist the urge to kiss her senseless right there and then. "You must forgive me," he said as he reluctantly released her hand. "I seem to have talked more than I danced. I'm a terrible dancer."

Sarla laughed, but said nothing. "You're not so bad my Prince." She looked at him and smiled, really smiled. Then she stepped close to him, and before he could take advantage of her close distance, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered before she pulled away, and then warmth of her lips on his skin was gone. _Too soon, too soon! _He opened his mouth to say something but words failed him.

She opened her mouth again to say something but stopped herself, her eyes turning to notice something at the edge of her vision. She lowered her head again and took a step back.

This could only mean one thing. Luce stopped himself from sighing. Here comes the real world to interrupt once again. He too, stepped back from Sarla and released her, then he bowed while she curtseyed, formally ending the dance.

"That was rare." The deep voice of the Empress floated to them as she approached, escorted by none other than Lord Benthur. "My son, taking the initiative to dance..." her eyes settled on Luce then to Sarla.

"Stranger things have been known to happen," Luce replied as he tore his eyes away from Sarla and turned to his mother. He kissed her cheek automatically.

"… and willingly _receive_ affection from a woman other than his own mother," the Empress continued, as if he had not interrupted. When he pulled back, she patted his cheek. "What has happened to my only heir?" she asked as she turned to Sarla and smiled delicately.

"Let me look at you then, Cousin. You have become quite a lady," she said as she finally acknowledged her presence.

Sarla curtseyed and inclined her head but said nothing.

"I welcome you back to our ancestral halls." The Empress said with a flick of her hands, gesturing around them. "I apologize for not being able to acknowledge you earlier; there were… _matters_ I had to attend to."

"I am honored," Sarla replied softly as she inclined her face gracefully to one side. Arto walked to stand by her side, and bowed to the Empress. "Your majesty is too generous with her attention to us," he continued.

Luce waited for Arto to meet his eyes. When blue finally met hazel, he inclined his head. "Lord Benthur, no, _General_ Benthur. It was not so long ago when I knighted you. Again you have distinguished yourself. Congratulations on your recent promotion and… marriage." Luce said as his eyes briefly glanced at Sarla's direction.

"It is an honor to serve the Empire in whatever way I can," he replied without any emotion in his voice. There was a pause between them as his eyes held Luce's. Arto's countenance betrayed nothing but he was the first to look away, turning to glance at his wife who had shifted in her position.

"You must forgive me for taking the liberty of dancing with your _wife_." Luce said, looking at Sarla once again. He fought off a wince when he realized that his words did not come out as neutrally as he would have wanted. Well it doesn't matter. "I knew her when we were children. I… thought she would remember me."

Sarla turned her head in his direction, though she never raised her eyes. "I apologize for not having recognized you earlier. But I could never forget one such as your Highness." Her words were elucidated clearly and distinctly, contrasting from the subdued demeanor she exhibited.

_I wish she would look at me again. Why does she not raise her head?_ Luce frowned and resisted the urge to lift her chin. Maybe if he tried another tactic, something unexpected, he'd see her exquisite eyes again. Luce smiled. "I would hope not. I _still_ have all _your_ letters after all."

A faint but distinct blush crept along her pale cheeks then, but she said nothing otherwise. She looked so cute when that happened. He decided to press it further. "You don't believe me? Let's see, the last one was about…"

She lifted her eyes to him and he smiled inwardly as her amber depths widened in alarm and amusement. Then they narrowed a bit as if to dare him to go on.

"…your 14th birthday." He held her eyes and abruptly trailed off when she saw a lopsided smile in her face. Y_ou hated me because I wasn't there, even though I promised that I would be._

_But I lied, I was there._

Sarla shook her head as if to clear her thoughts, she turned to her husband, though she did not meet his eyes. "His Imperial Majesty and I exchanged several correspondences when we were younger," she explained. "But it was a long time ago."

"Seven years is indeed a long time," Luce half-whispered. A silence passed through the group.

"So you meet again..." The Empress commented, calling their attention back to her presence. "What is lost will eventually find its way back." She paused but never took her eyes off Sarla. "Perhaps we would be more comfortable if we continued our reacquaintance elsewhere? You should join us as we dine in the inner court," the Empress said, eyeing Arto as she took her son's arm.

"It would be our pleasure, Your Highness." Arto said as he offered his own arm to Sarla and she took it automatically.

Luce fought off a frown as he saw her fingers curl around Arto's arm. _How could this once lowly soldier ever be suitable enough for her?_ He felt a light squeeze on his own arm and he automatically responded, giving one last glance to Arto before turning and walking away. He looked ahead, at the crowd of onlookers who parted to give way to their passage. He tried to take his mind away from a certain Princess following a few feet behind him; whose hands and body he held only a few heartbeats ago, whose lips touched his cheek for an all too brief moment…

_She's another man's __**wife**__. _He reminded himself and frowned. He saw movement at the corner of his eyes and noticed that his mother had been looking at him intently. "Interesting," she said in a voice low enough so that only he would hear. He arched his eyebrow in question.

"You've shown more emotions in the last few hours than you had in a _year_," she said with a mysterious smile. He turned toward her, hazel eyes turning rich yellow in the candle light, as they turned away from the crowds of the outer court.

Luce's eyes were unfocused. After a few heartbeats he tensed, then dropped her arm unceremoniously. Without saying a word, he quickly walked ahead, losing himself in the twists of doors and pathways.

* * *

They ate in silence. Sarla wiped the corners of her mouth with a napkin and sat back straighter in her chair. She was much too distracted to be able to focus on eating. They were inside the inner court, located in a hall almost as large as the whole area of the outer court but with significantly less people. Her eyes wandered around the room as discretely as possible and tried to absorb as much information as she could.

What first struck her in the room was the presence of the strange inscriptions in the walls around them. Something had been carved into the very stone though it had faded with time. The embossed marks ran all around the length of the floor, the pillars, even the ceiling. She couldn't determine if they were runes or figures or a new type of calligraphy? Perhaps some artisan went amok with the hammer and chisel, writing his erotic conquests in a language only he could read.

She smiled briefly at this. _Gods, playing the meek and demure Princess was so boring._

In the middle of the hall, the tables were set with chairs to serve as the dining area. The high table they occupied was met on both ends, with each new table extending towards the door on the other side of the room. All manner of foods were piled and served generously. There were a few servants doing the rounds and serving drinks as their masters chattered in their own groups. Some of them threw furtive glances in her direction, but for the most part everyone kept to their own meals.

To her dismay, Luce was not at the inner court. She lost track of the Imperial Prince and the Empress after a sharp turn in the labyrinth of hallways as they kept a modest distance away.

Arto did not speak to her the whole time. He must've known the way; he strode forward confidently until they arrived in this hall already occupied by some high ranking nobles. Then she was tagged around while people flocked to her husband and congratulated him on his new status and the beautiful bride that he went home with.

She felt like a piece of chattel, just another spoil of war that the Dhorn took from their conquered lands. She only half-paid attention as she was dragged from one distinguished guest to another, introduced as the beautiful wife of General Arto Benthur and the Crown Princess of Betancuria.

Nobody mentioned her Kingdom nor gave any sign that they were aware that it was conquered. Either they took it as a given or they simply did not care (she guessed it was the latter).

As she was dragged around, the room, she kept an eye out for Luce, silently pleading that he would come so that she could have a decent bit of conversation again. As it was, Arto and the men did most of the talking. The women could have been a wall decoration in as much as anyone cared.

She expected Luce to appear shortly after the Empress reentered and took her seat at the High table, everyone else following her lead and taking their seats as well. But he never did.

"Are you enjoying yourself, Princess?" A voice to her left said, pulling her out of her thoughts. Sarla turned to the source of the voice and immediately fought to keep her expression neutral. Beside her, a middle-aged General clad in the same red robes as Arto though with less medals on his attire, had taken a seat. He had warm brown eyes, a darker brown shade of hair that was beginning to gray at the edges and an expressive mouth partially hidden by his thick beard.

He was ruggedly handsome. And she could remember how that beard had felt, tickling her neck as he kissed her skin. A tingle ran down her spine.

"Princess?" he said again, calling her attention.

Sarla forced herself to look up at him and broke into a smile. "Forgive me; I blanked out for a bit. Yes, the food here is lovely," she said as she presented another smile. "And you? Are you enjoying yourself, General Addams?" She could vaguely remember being introduced to him earlier though she had not been paying attention, distracted as she was. Now that she got a good look at him, there could be no mistake; this was the same General as the one she got the castle key from back at Moonville.

"I am honored that you remembered me, Your Highness. I hope you don't think me too forward when I say that your presence has made it worthwhile," he said as he smiled at her, laugh lines appearing under his eyes.

Sarla smiled and lowered her eyes. If she had a gold for every time that phrase was uttered, she could have formed her very own El Dorado.

"How do you find Rosethorn so far? It must have been difficult to leave Betancuria behind."

Sarla continued to look at the General as he turned to drink from his goblet. He seemed so normal like this, not at all a person you'd expect to fuck a maid and let her go if she was a good lay. The corner of her lips tugged in a smile; that had been what, months ago? The last time she "got any" and enjoyed it? When his searching eyes met hers, Sarla knew that she had been silent again for too long, "Difficult, but necessary. I was to be with my husband after all." _Especially since I'm going to kill him_, she silently added in her mind.

"That is true, it is important to be with your loved ones," Sarla fought off rolling her eyes at this. "My… late wife was from Betancuria. She took a while to adjust to her new surroundings here at the Empire. She said that she kept missing the rains back home." His eyes were sincere as he smiled nostalgically.

He must still love her, after all these years. Maybe that was what drew him to her, whether he realized it or not. Betancurian women _are_ different. She smiled a little at this. "The Dhorn Empire is…very different. So many soldiers…" she trailed off, her eyes flicking to the men who were gathered around the table, almost all of whom were soldiers.

"Yes, our empire is highly militarized. Our Emperor started out as a soldier. He shaped the military to become the structure you see today. Our organization permeates all aspects of government. You could say that we _are_ the government."

Sarla sat back straighter at this. He was very forthcoming with information. "I do not see the Emperor. May I ask why he does not join us?"

General Addams gave a tight-lipped smile. "The Emperor, like his son, shuns public attention. Though as everyone has noticed earlier, the Prince does not seem to have any problems approaching you."

Sarla gave a little smile and slightly turned her head away, saying nothing. _Let them think what they want._

He leaned a little closer to her as if to say something important. "The Emperor on the other hand has not been seen in public for more than a year. They say that he is sick with a wasting illness. But he commands and directs the Empire still. The heads of the left and the right faction meet with him regularly and carry out his commands." He paused as he leaned back once again. "You are familiar with the factions of the military…?"

Sarla nodded at him. "The right faction takes care of threats from the territories outside the empire s while the left faction focuses on threats within. I have been told that General Henry Bastienne is the head of the left faction but I don't know who heads the right faction..?" she gave him the most innocently curious look that she had.

"Oh, he's here. He sits on the right side of the Emperor's empty seat, over there," General Addams said as he inclined his head to Sarla's right. "General Solomon Lyonson."

The name sounded familiar to her. Was he connected to the pleasant young man she had the pleasure of killing back in Betancuria? "Is he perchance a relative of the Emperor?" she asked as she nonchalantly sipped from her goblet, feigning disinterest.

"That's right, how did you know?" he said as his curious brown eyes looked at her with a hint of suspicion.

"I guessed," she said with a disarming smile. "He occupies a critical position in the Empire and you mentioned that he sits right beside the Emperor. It makes sense to trust only relatives in matters as important as that."

He smiled "You are very bright, Princess. Such a rare combination of beauty and intelligence. Commander… no, _General_ Benthur is a lucky man."

She smiled at his compliment but could not make herself voice out gratitude. _Oh yes, so very lucky indeed. _She flicked her eyes to her right, where Arto sat. He was leaning towards General Bastienne on his other side, listening to something he whispered. She could not hear their words for it was buried beneath the waves of clinking table ware, chamber music and the blanket of hushed conversations taking place all around.

After a nod of General Bastienne's head, Arto turned to her. He straightened up slowly and held her gaze, his expression as blank as ever. Sarla noticed a small piece of the meat clung beneath his lower lip, where the curve of his mouth protruded above his chin. _He eats like a slob,_ she thought and couldn't help the sneer that tugged at the corner of her mouth. _I cannot be the wife of one so uncouth. _

She raised her fingers delicately and touched the same area beneath her lips, trying to call his attention to its presence. He frowned at first, then raised his fingers to touch her mouth. Sarla frowned a bit and murmured, "Not me," in an annoyed tone against his forefinger. Before she could reach out and take the offending piece of meat herself, Arto's thumb caressed her lips, wandering their surface and stopping her movements.

Sarla looked at him and saw the heat reflected in his blue eyes. _Oh dear, not again._ She thought as his hands moved to cup her face and he leaned, kissing her thoroughly in plain sight of the others.

_Don't cause a scene, don't cause a scene,_ she repeated in her head as she mentally counted to keep herself calm. He tasted of roast beef sauce and red wine.

Then with a gasp, Sarla pulled away, partly from lack of air and partly because Arto's other hand had brushed over her nipple in a firm caress. She covered her mouth to prevent further contact with his. "_Are you insane?!_" she hissed, partly to reprimand herself for allowing him to catch her unguarded yet again, and letting their kiss linger. She immediately recovered herself. "That was hardly proper, my Lord!" she chastised him.

The corners of his lips went up in a smile and he leaned his forehead against hers. "You asked for it."

"I did not—" Sarla pursed her lips and looked for the offending piece of meat that got her in this mess in the first place. It was gone, and reasoning with him was a lost cause. She pursed her lips again.

Arto had withdrawn; his hand found and lingered above hers on top of the table while his other plucked an apple from the nearby basket. With a flick of his wrist, he threw the fruit at her.

She caught it easily with her left hand and pondered its effectiveness as a missile if it hit just the _right_ spot. _Damn that man for being such a tease! _Emotions flitted across her face and she did not bother to hide them._ Calm, Sarla,_ she thought to herself. _Don't let him get to you. _

She was about to bite the fruit when she raised her eyes and noticed that the people from the surrounding tables, men and women alike, were gazing intently either at her or at the apple that she was about to bite. Had they been looking the whole time? Sarla blushed furiously, turning almost as red as the fruit that she held in her hands. Voyeurs, the lot of them. She was sure that they'll be expecting a strip show from her next.

She turned to Arto as she finally took a bite. _You're getting bold, Benthur. _She could understand that he was laying a claim on her, reinforcing his position as her husband especially after that public dance with the Prince.

And truth be told, he _was_ a good kisser… But she'd rather die than to admit the fact that he _stirred_ lust in her. And she's seen his package after all, and it was… interesting.

But is he determined to be a tease for the short period of time they'd be together? Because it was going to be cut short, she'd make sure of that. _But then_, she thought as she took another bite from the fruit, _two can play that game_. She could _also_ make his life a living hell, and was rather _good_ at being a tease as well. _Why don't I remind him of that?_ She made sure that he was still watching her when she dragged her tongue slowly through her lips, wetting them thoroughly. Then she slowly brought the fruit closer to her mouth, tongue coming out to meet the grainy surface of the apple. She gave it a small lick, enjoying the way the rough texture of its flesh felt against the buds in her tongue. She closed her eyes with a small exhilation. Then, slowly, she sank her teeth into its flesh, taking in a slightly larger amount than was appropriate.

She pursed her lips and made a show of chewing what was in her mouth. She glanced at Arto from the corner of her eyes and saw that his eyes were fixated on her lips and followed the trail the apple's syrup made down her chin. She pulled away the hand that he held and slowly wiped the apple syrup from her face. She smiled smugly as she watched him follow her every motion. Time to drive the point home.

She leaned to him, giving him a show of what was between the thin green silks that ran down her chest. But before she could say anything, her new vantage point allowed her a glimpse into the view several seats from where they were. Sarla's eyes were drawn by a movement behind General Bastienne where a pale white arm framed by the layers of transparent clothing shimmied and the hand that it revealed brought a goblet to red, waiting lips. Henry Bastienne had finally leaned back on his chair and gave Sarla a good view of the Empress who sat beside him. He was whispering something to her ear as she listened impassively.

Sarla stared as the woman's dark raven locks became rich mahogany brown and merlot-colored eyes turned to honey color in the light and shadows that framed her face. Her mouth went dry and she lost the words she was about to say.

_Mother_… she thought as she stared at the Empress' profile. _No._ _No!_ She said as she cleared her vision and looked upon her for who she was. It was so easy to see the similarities between her mother and the Empress when viewed from this angle. Why hadn't she noticed it before? _She was the only one who was spared… _She remembered the words of the quiet Lady Bastienne, as they recalled the story of the civil war.

And she was not her mother, _no_. Her mother was dead. _She killed herself_. She's **gone**. Sarla could feel unshed tears burning in the sides of her eyes, and then she felt Arto's cold fingers on her cheek, calling her back to reality. She blinked and stared into his blue eyes, realizing that he had been looking at her all this time. "It's rude to stare, Princess."

Sarla closed her eyes and prayed for the tears to go back down where they came from. She inwardly flayed herself for letting her emotions run away like that. "You can let go now," she said as she opened her eyes and looked at him with an even gaze. She _would not_ lose sight of her focus. She raised her hand to remove his hold on her. But he interrupted any movement that she tried to make.

"I have no intention of doing so," he said as his fingers moved from her cheek to twirl strands of her hair between his fingers. He leaned forward as his hands slid down to her face and settled on the point that joined her neck and shoulders.

"You're **mine**." She saw a new sparkle in his eyes as he smiled at her. She's seen that gleam before in the eyes of fanatics. And that was what Arto was, a soldier in an empire of fanatics.

_I am no one's,_ Sarla thought as she watched his hands slide down from her neck, lower and lower. _But perhaps, for now, I'll let you believe that. _Sarla closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensations his hands were bringing her.

_After all, it makes revenge so much sweeter. _

* * *

Arto's other hand wandered below the table where it pulled up her silk gown and caressed the bare skin of her inner thighs. Her hands gripped his arms, stopping further explorations. She looked at him with an expression that was hard to read; a combination of anger and… lust?

"My _dear_ wife," Arto said as he used his other hand to readjust her position and made her body face his, her legs positioned at the empty space between their chairs. He tentatively flicked his fingers across her crotch. She gave a small gasp and bit her lip. "Do you really want to make a scene?" He watched her close her eyes and shiver slightly under his touch.

Then he felt the strength in her arms fall away, allowing his hands to wander where they wished. He smiled inwardly; she was so vulnerable like that. A little touch and attention and she becomes a puddle on the floor._ Like all the other women I've met._

_No, not just any woman. __**Mine**__,_ Arto thought as he let his eyes wander around her face but could read nothing of her emotions. She stopped resisting him; she was already wet and he could feel it as he began his ministrations to her nether lips. A smile pulled at his lips as he felt her pulse quicken beneath the hand that caressed her neck. He could feel her heat and wetness with his other. _Very good Princess, you have learned something after all._ She wore nothing under her dress. He played with her curls for a while before caressing the outer folds of her vagina, coating his fingers with her liquid desire.

He brought his forehead against hers and looked at her in the eye as he inserted one well lubricated finger into her depths. Her face remained impassive at his initial intrusion, but as he started his explorations she winced and closed her eyes. Her lips were parted and her hands clutched the arm that moved inside her tightly. His fingers found the sweet spot in her nub and began rubbing in earnest. Her frown deepened and she bit her lip, resisting the urge to make a sound. She looked so beautiful with her skin flushed with desire and the pleasure that he was giving her.

_And she's mine. Mine to take, however I want to. _He began pumping his fingers, inserting another one to join the first, wanting to see the warmth in her cheek and groin spread into all of her being.

The sound of tinkling bells distracted his attention as he turned his eyes on the other end of the room. A group of men and women entered; the slaves who would be the entertainment for the night. The males were dressed in riding clothes while the women wore elaborate gowns made from feathers. They all wore masks that hid their faces. The tinkling sound continued and they stepped closer.

_About damn time._

He knew that the sound were from little bells each had wrapped around their ankles; a sign of their status as a slave. Arto turned her head back to Sarla as he felt her hands clamp around his shoulders, turning fully to him to give him better access. She had closed her eyes and was breathing faster now, a faint blush creeping across her cheeks.

He kept going, playing with her while the rest was distracted with the show that was about to start. There was a flash of red at the corner of his eyes and he saw that another person had entered the room, weaving across the walking troupe clad in bright red riding clothes. He weaved easily through them and stopped only when he was already a few feet away from the Empress. He bowed to her as the music in the halls turned into sultry tunes of seduction.

Arto inserted another finger into Sarla now and curled it inside her as his thumb continued rubbing her clit. Sarla's thighs had clamped onto his hands but it did not prevent him from proceeding further. His other hand held her waist to steady her. From the edge of his line of sight, he saw the dancers turn to their partners, and slowly, sensually, take their clothes off one by one.

The red hunter straightened and started to undress but only with his lower garments. The different couples in the room moved slowly, each following a beat of their own, a hunter, paired to prey, conquering, surrendering to the other. Some began to kiss; their tongues stuck out to meet the others' while their bodies continued to shed the clothing they had, all while swaying to the sultry music of strings. Their masks stayed on.

Sarla gasped against his ear as he slipped a third finger inside her and began caressing her inner folds. He renewed the vigor in his movements and he lowered his head and licked a path from her neck upwards to her ear. She shuddered, and though she made no sound the sudden tightening in the flesh that surrounded his fingers and the clenching of her thighs around his hand told him all that he needed to know. He smiled against her cheek. This was the first time she came because of him. And tonight, it would be the first of _many._

A woman with pink hair and dressed in furs, wearing the mask of a feline came in, nonchalantly walking through the dancers as they began to fuck wherever they found space. Arto raised an eyebrow at her entrance and took the chance to discreetly look around the room. Did they know who she represented? They were all gazing intently at the display, and no one was paying attention to them. The pink haired woman did a pirouette before she arrived in front of the red robed hunter. He stifled a scoff. _Did they really think Sarla could do that?_

He turned back his attention to her, and noticed that she still had her eyes closed and was breathing deeply, perhaps not yet aware of the happenings around her. She made neither sound nor movement as she climbed down from the throes of her orgasm. He withdrew his hands and wiped them at the table cloth before he wrapped them around her, pulling her head to rest against his chest. To everyone else, they looked as if they were sharing an intimate hug between lovers. But what happened under the tables, well…

The pink haired woman walked backwards as the man in the red coat turned to her, a massive erection jutting proudly from his crotch. The woman started to shed her clothing, and, when she had nothing, save for her mask, she stood, surrounded by coupling bodies, waiting for the man to come to her.

He came to her, and stopped as they were face to face. She bent down and paid tribute to his cock, taking it inside her mouth. The nearest man to her stood up and left his current partner, and, without any warning, speared her from behind. She groaned but the sound was muffled by the cock inside her mouth.

Arto felt his own erection twitch. He looked at Sarla by his side; she was looking at the display in front of her now, her eyes wide with surprise and wonder. He fought off the urge to smile. This was _quite_ a culture shock, of that, he could be sure.

"_Arto_," a deep feminine voice called out from his side, drawing his full attention almost immediately. He looked at the Empress who was leaning her chin against her palm, watching the events with an almost bored expression. "Perhaps you should dance with your wife?" she said nonchalantly.

He felt Sarla stiffen against him as she pulled away and straightened up. "If it's all the same I'd rather not…" she started to say, but before she could finish he interjected. "Of course. _Anything for an Ascivan._" He immediately stood up, his hand still linked with hers.

"You cannot be serious. How do you expect me to dance around…" she spoke in a low voice through an obviously fake smile. He raised one eyebrow in challenge and when she made no move, he pulled her up roughly to her feet.

Her eyes widened at his display of force and stood stunned. _Spoiled brat. _Before she could react or come up with a quip, he leaned to her ear and snaked his arms around her waist, making sure that he put a light pressure in the small of her back. "You're a fool if think you were asked to dance."

"What…?" There was actually a worried undertone in her voice.

"There's no use resisting, and you know it." With one hand behind her and the other taking her hand he guided her down to the platform where the slaves performed their sexual acrobatics. The frolicking couples they passed paid them no mind and continued seeking their pleasure. Some of them cleared away when they saw his approach, masked faces turning to their direction, naked flesh parting, only to come together again shortly elsewhere.

He turned to her as they reached a wide enough clearing in between the coupling bodies. She did not move, but only stared at him with incredulity in her eyes. She gave a near imperceptible shake of her head as he walked closer to her. This garnered a small smile from him.

_Playing hard to get?_ He leaned down and whispered to her ear. "What's the matter Princess? Do you feel unequal to the task?"

She raised her chin and gave him that look that said promised him that she was going to make him regret this. He smirked and stepped back, raising his hands in invitation. "Shall we…?"

"Since you ask so nicely," she replied in a loud sing song voice; sweet sounding to others' ears but her eyes told him another story.

He smirked as he pulled her towards him as soon as their hands touched. Without giving her a chance to recover, he tilted her face and kissed her passionately. She struggled and gave a little shriek as he groped her in warm and unexpected places. His tongue slipped dipped inside her parted mouth, seeking hers and suckling it to stifle her words.

He held her close to him as he continued the explorations of his hands. No curve or warmth was left unexplored and more and more flesh was exposed from under her dress.

He felt Sarla give a strong push against him and when she wasn't successful in dislodging him, she turned her head to the side, stopping their kiss with a gasp.

"What?!" he growled against her ear. "Didn't _you_ want this?" He saw a frown form on her forehead as she remained silent, her head turned away from him. She stopped struggling when she realized its futility and looked elsewhere eyes at the happenings around them.

"Stop it, Arto." She said in a dangerously low and serious voice. "Don't _force_ me." The cries of the women as they were fucked senseless made it hard to be heard by anyone else.

"You still haven't figured it out?" he said as he flicked his tongue at her ear, eliciting another shiver from her. The way she felt against him as the sensation went through her body almost drove him mad. He fought to keep his voice steady as he explained. "This is _your_ initiation. If you embarrass me, then I will let whoever wants you have their way with you."

She turned to him with a mixture of shock and fear on her face. "You wouldn't…" she turned her face towards the Empress and met her eyes. Arto didn't have to turn to see for himself and was quite content to watch the change in expression on her face, fading into an unreadable mask once again. While she was distracted, he slipped one hand under the shoulder of her dress and slipped it off, exposing her neck and right breast. Then he bent down to lick his way up from her bosom to her neck.

Her sweat had perhaps the most addicting taste that he'd ever known. He ground his erection against her leg as he continued kissing her, leaving a wet trail of kisses on her neck.

He felt something warm touch his cheek and looked up to see that she had closed her eyes and a tear had ran down her cheek. He kissed the corner of her eye. "Shhh," he whispered as he peeled the other corner of her dress. "That's a good Princess."

Her green dress snagged at the golden arm band that she wore on her left arm. With a barely restrained growl, he tore off the cloth and pulled the destroyed garment away from her body, fully exposing her nude state to all. He felt her eyelids flutter against his skin as she opened her eyes again.

He noticed that her amber eyes had begun to pulse faintly. And instead of the hate he expected, he saw nothing; her eyes were unfocused and glassy. He had never seen her this way before. Beyond the haze of lust that clouded his brain, he was able to sense that something was wrong. "Sarla…?" he asked, trying to meet her eyes.

Everything was silent. The chamber music had stopped, and he could no longer hear the breathless moans and gasps of those who sought and gave pleasure. Even the noise of clinking dinnerware had halted.

The room was bathed in blood red light. The markings on the room, engraved into the very walls had begun to bleed and emanate the color of blood. Writings they did not understand began to appear, undecipherable, all around them. There was definitely a palpable presence in the air. _What was happening?_

"_Louis!_" the Empress commanding voice resounded from the table up ahead. She stood up from her chair and was clearly agitated at the sight that greeted her eyes.

Arto turned towards the entrance and saw the Imperial Prince. He stood silently near the door. And he was not alone; he was flanked by two figures covered in black robes and a low cowl.

_The Bone Servants…!_ Arto thought as he became aware of the very palpable fear that hung heavy in the room. The Prince began to walk forward and the people who had lain in the floor scampered out of his way. Arto loosened his grasp on Sarla and felt her slowly slump to the floor.

The Prince stopped a few feet from Arto and looked him in the eye. "How could you do this to the one you were supposed to _protect_?" he said in a quiet voice that was tinged with strong emotion… was it hate?

No matter. His own rage boiled inside him. "She is _my_ _**wife**_." He all but spat, how _dare_ he question his actions? "_Mine_ to do with however I…"

The Prince's eyes narrowed as he stepped closer to him. The simple act stopped his words. The presence of the man was _overwhelming_. It was as if he dared him to continue, dared him to damn himself in front of everyone, to make that one mistake which would strip him of everything he worked hard for. Oh yes, all he had to do was utter the wrong words.

For the first time in a _very_ long time, Arto held back the words he wanted to say.

The Prince's eyes began to glow slightly, a soft golden light began illuminated his face. They were glowing like Sarla's, though his came more strongly. "She's _not_ your destiny."

Arto's eyes, narrowed at this and he stepped forward, consequences be damned. "Destiny?" he all but spat. "In the eyes of the gods and men, she's _mine_."

They stood unmoving, staring at each other. Sarla did not make a sound, not even to indicate that she heard their exchange. She remained curled on the floor, the bones in her spine visible in her bowed position.

"Louis, _darling_, you surprised me." The Empress said in a conversational way as she sat back down her throne. "Come join us and take your Father's seat."

But the Prince made no move, not even to acknowledge his mother's words. _How dare he disrespect an Ascivan! _Arto thought as he stared into his glowing eyes, not backing down on the implicit challenge.

But wait… Arto lifted his eyes to look at the red glow of the carvings around them. He looked at the Prince, then at Sarla's crumpled form. They had been told that Rosethorn Castle reacts to the bloodline of family who built it. Were they causing this? The Prince was undoubtedly an Ascivan as well, and so was Sarla, though he didn't believe it at first. After all, it hardly made sense…

But who was he to question the orders that he receives, and which was beneficial to him in more ways than one? But what was _she_ thinking?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of rustling clothes. He turned to see the Prince kneel beside Sarla.

"Princess?" He reached out to touch her but hesitated as he saw the near imperceptible shaking of her shoulders. Had she been crying all along? "Sarla…" he said as he placed one hand on her shoulder. "Can you stand?"

There was a stillness as if she steeled herself for what was to come. "Of… course," she replied. But made no move to do so.

"Of course," the Prince repeated. Slowly, he removed his black coat and draped it around her shoulders. Then, with his hand supporting her back and the other hooking itself under her knees, he scooped her into his arms and stood.

Arto briefly glimpsed Sarla's tear stricken face before she turned and buried her face in the Prince's chest, hiding the tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. She looked so lost, like that time in the music room. He clenched his fists. It should have been him that would do that. He was her _husband_! It was _his_ right! He closed his eyes, frowning and breathing deeply.

_No._ He thought as the Prince stood at his full height and looked at him as if he waited for him to snap.

_No. _He repeated to himself._ He said to let her go when the time comes._

Arto looked at the Prince, but he was looking forward beyond him, at the Empress herself. His eyes still glowed a faint golden light. He said nothing, carrying a crumpled mass of a woman in his arms. He covered her well, Arto thought idly.

"I claim the right of _First Night_*," The Prince declared, his voice resounding across the hall. There was silence, nobody spoke to support or challenge his words. Nobody dared, not even the Empress.

After a few moments, he turned to Arto and said in words meant only for his ears. "If she's yours, she'll come back of her own accord."

Then he turned with Sarla still in his arms, heading towards the exit. Each step that his leather boots made on the carpeted floor reverberated a thousand times in Arto's mind as he felt the rage flare inside him. With the Prince's declaration he had been effectively deprived on the enjoyment of their own first night… and of his access to her body, _indefinitely_. He clenched his hands until they hurt and bit his lip until he felt the metallic taste of his own blood.

_She'll come back? No. I'll __**take**__ her back._ He threw one last look at their retreating figures.

_Enjoy it while it lasts, Princess._

**A/N:**

_*The Right of First Night_: In medieval Europe, the ruling nobleman had the right to spend the first "wedding" night with newly-wedded brides in their fiefdoms. I'm appropriating the practice here.

Thanks to the people who put together the wikia gaming article for ADWR! My memory of some parts of the game were a bit hazy, so these helps in getting some of the facts straight. Good job!

By the way, in case you were curious, I listened to 'The Waves of the Danube' by Iosif Ivanovici for 'The Princess Waltz'.

And as always, thank you **Tawni** for beta-reading this! You are the best! :D


	12. The String of Choices

**A / N:** I normally don't put notes before the story (most of the time, I skip reading those anyway, but I feel that this is in order here).

With the release of V1.40 and the addition of certain *ahem* plot possibilities, I've decided to cut short a lot of the other things I was planning to do with the story (maybe even drop it altogether) depending on… well, whim, at this point. I conceptualized the whole story before a lot of changes in the module (before Bran was even introduced as a character) and while the update for Part 2 isn't out yet, I know that there will be a _lot_ of _key_ changes that may affect how you view this story. I'm not going to spoil you on what these are, so just play the module if you want to find out (and be pleasantly surprised as well). :D

I suppose this is the price I have to pay for taking too much time writing this fic. Anyway, I haven't decided if I'll drop this story or not, but I might as well finish _this_ chapter since I was already 75% done before I finished playing the update. Maybe I'll go back and reedit all the chapters after I'm done writing it all. Or maybe not.

In any case, this chapter is here. I will be alternating from Sarla to Luce's point of view per pagebreak. All mistakes are mine. This version has **not** been beta edited.

And, uh, _fluff_ abounds.

**Chapter 11:**

**The String of Choice/s**

Her world was spinning. She could feel the air she stirred with her movement, whipping across her body as she turned. Wanting to feel more, she extended her arms as if to spread her wings. With a circular flick to her right, she brought her head back and smiled. And kept spinning.

There was music as well; it wove around her, sending tingles down her spine. She felt it caress her exposed skin; the hairs standing up as if in acknowledgment to its passing.

With every breath, she took in more and more melodies inside her until it blended with her soul. She could no longer distinguish where she ended and where the music began. Nothing mattered. Not her past, her current, or her future. There was only that music, herself, and the one who played it.

…_so who was playing?_

Sarla opened her eyes and gazed up at the intricately carved ceiling above her. The polished granite tiles extended up to a curved dome where globular magical lamps that gave off a soft blue fire, hovered at the base of the arcs. They illuminated the faces of countless cherubs and devas carved into solid rock. Each carving had a different face and looked so real as they looked down from their perch. _Watching her. _

A high-pitched laughter escaped Sarla's mouth. It had been too long since she last dreamed of Castle Stormborn this way. This was the Celestial Playground, one of her favorite rooms in the Castle; while it was still the magical place that she grew up in.

How many nights had she spent like this? Losing herself in pretending to play and dance for the creatures that watched her? A sob escaped her lips as she remembered that these days ended long ago. She stopped spinning as she slowly brought her head down; no, she was no longer a child.

She straightened up her posture and stood stiffly. Then she walked slowly to stand at the very center of the room, her heels clicking loudly against the polished granite floor.

The eyes of the carved statues followed her movements. There was movement as a slow drip began with one of the carved angels. Black granite stretched towards the earth, right above where Sarla stood. She closed her eyes and heard the rustling of wings stir the air around her.

There was a calming presence, so gentle that she almost fell asleep. Except, she already knew that she was dreaming. She opened her eyes.

"_My child, how you've suffered…_" The sight of her own face framed by long, almost white locks met her eyes. The angel that stood before her could have so easily been mistaken for _her_. Her heart tugged at this. Here was a celestial creature, bearing more than a passing resemblance to her face. Did she deserve to be in the presence of such a pure creature? The angel stood naked in front of her and the blue iridescence of her eyes illuminated her face. She never blinked nor opened her mouth, simply stared and waited for her to speak.

"You…" Sarla whispered. There was moment spent in silence, as the world seemed to slow down and her senses came into sharper focus. "I know you…" she took a step backward as she realized the first time she saw that face, looking down at her from the paned glass of the manor. "Grandmother…?" she drew back further and looked at her with suspicion. "You keep haunting me…" It was an accusation and the slight drop of the angel's eyelids confirmed her words.

"_Dreams. Haunts. Memories. They are my only means to reach you…"_ she tilted her head as she spoke, her wings moving slightly behind her. Her lips did not move, but Sarla heard her words as if she had spoken them nonetheless.

"I've never even met you. They say you died giving birth to my mother…"

A smile appeared in her face, though it was a heartbreakingly sad smile. "_I had to leave," _she delivered the line breathlessly, almost quietly. When she lifted her eyes to meet hers, there was a plaintive look in them. _ "I was forbidden to intervene_."

"Why do you keep appearing? Why would you care now?"

"_I have always watched your mother… And you, when you were born… I could only watch from afar. Watch how you used your freedom..."_

"What freedom?" Sarla replied with spite, her amber eyes flashing. What was she talking about now? Is she going to pass judgment on the things she had done? "I had _no _freedom!Not in this place, my life in that gilded cage, or even now!"

"_No…" _the angel shook her head, looking at her with sad eyes._ "The choice had always, always been yours. Despite your lineage, despite what has happened, you alone have chosen… You chose to__** see**__ things this way…" _

She shook her head, disbelieving her words. "I've always done what I had to do to _survive_. It was either that or death."

"_A choice you made all the same."_

Sarla stared at her with hate in her eyes. How dare she judge her? How dare she take the guise of god's creatures and lay blame? Everything that has happened, it was all her fault?!

_**No!**_ She refused to believe that. "I did what I _had_ to do! It has always been that way!"

The angel came closer and rested her palm against Sarla's face. She wanted to slap her hand away but found that she could not. It felt too _good_ and she needed _this_, no matter what she thought. The calming effect was instantaneous. Her anger flowed away as she closed her eyes and tears ran down her cheek.

"What choice… should I have made?" Sarla said when she could finally spoke again. "To have perished along with my parents? To live like a rat cowering in the darkness? Or perhaps as a fugitive, always on the run?" She lifted her eyes to meet the angel's. They were calm and glazed over, not from sadness, but from despondency. "How could things have been different?"

"_So much anger, still…"_ a tear made its way down the angel's cheek. "_Embrace the darkness if you must... But do not forget that you can draw strength from the light. Remember how life used to be good…"_

"Is that why I'm here…?" Sarla lifted her eyes to look around the room they were in. Then she shook her head and looked at the angel again. "There's no need. I remember what happened. I remember the reasons why I _fight_."

"_Oh, my child," _She felt the warm touch upon her cheek fade. "_Are you so sure that things could not have been any _other_ way?_" Her voice grew smaller as she spoke, she stepped back and she faded right before her eyes.

"_Is there nobody left to dance with my beautiful daughter?"_ A deep, strong voice called out and resounded across the room. She turned her head to her side and saw her father, the King, holding her raised hand as they stood side by side. It was as if he had been there all along.

_Father!_ Sarla blinked as her eyes danced around the ballroom that slowly came alive with the colors of the tapestries, gowns and garbs of the nobility. She looked down at herself and saw herself wearing beautiful white dress; a favorite one that she wore many, many years ago.

"_Anyone_ can dance with her this night!" There were quite a few laughs as the males from the crowd cheered. Some stepped forward but the King shook his head. "But only once! Those who had already taken their turn, kindly allow the others to do so. Be fair!" He turned to her and winked.

Sarla flushed and beamed. "You are too generous Father, giving me away for a night," she said, allowing the memory to run its course.

"I will _never_ give you away, not if I can help it." The King declared with another laugh. "But tonight I am in a good mood! Is there no one left?" he repeated his question. "What about you boy, our guest from the Dhorn Kingdom?" The King said as he spotted a head in the crowd. Everyone turned to look at a young man with goldspun hair and broad shoulders, dressed in the garments that could have easily blended in the curtains of the room. He stood in a strategic position, surrounded by women on all sides, though he did not seem to be taking advantage of the fact. He lowered his eyes when he felt the crowd's gaze on him but he kept his head on the level.

"But, Your Highness, a_ foreigner_? And I doubt he's even a noble…" one of the King's advisers spoke.

"Nonsense! Even the jester danced with her," his eyes turned to the enclave where the entertainers were. The jester gave a mighty bow. "Oh, Master Bard, what about you?" he called out as he spotted the musicians near where the jester stood.

"You are too kind, Your Royal Majesty. Regretfully, I am otherwise engaged," the bard replied as he held out his fiddle. "I can spare my apprentice to dance with Her Royal Highness, if she wishes it. He is closer to her age." They turned to look at a young man whose face was mostly hidden by his shoulder-length brown hair. He stood tall and looked thin but turned and lowered his head, hiding his face from scrutiny. He grasped the mandolin he played firmly in his hands.

"That is true, Master Bard!" The King approved as he turned back to her daughter. "Well, my beloved? It is your birthday, the choice is yours. Who else would you like to dance with tonight?"

Sarla turned her nose up and, placing both her arms behind her back started to walk closer towards the apprentice bard.

"He does play a fine mandolin, Master." She said as she stepped closer. "Unfortunately, he does not even look at me. A _pity_. I do not trust people who can't even meet my eyes." She passed them by, the younger bard never having moved from his position, his hair still hiding his face. As she passed through, his eyes lifted and lingered at her passing form, his lungs releasing a breath he suppressed in a sigh.

Sarla walked around in a circle, checking the men who were present in the room. Her eyes settled on the young man her Father had picked out earlier. It was easy to notice how much he stood out, surrounded by dark haired women in the crowd. She stopped in front of him with a teasing smile on her face. "Dhorn men are so reserved. Are you not going to look at me as well?" She asked as the crowd parted between them.

After a sidewards glance, the young man lifted his eyes to meet hers. Sarla inhaled a sharp and quiet breath. The man's eyes were like blue diamonds; the color of a sky interspersed with white clouds. After the initial hesitation, it held hers steadily. "I am of no consequence, Your Royal Majesty, just an escort to the Lady B…"

"Stop!" Sarla said, raising her hands and interrupting his words. She shook her head. "Is it so hard a task, to dance with me?" she smiled as she took a step backward.

He turned sideways to the Lady clad in red gown clothes that he stood with. She nodded her head, and with a bow, he took a step forward. Everyone watched as he made his way to the beautiful young princess dressed in a pearly white dress, whose amber eyes sparkled like stars, glittering along with the ruby set tiara that adorned her head.

"Your Royal Majesty, to be chosen by you… it is an _honor_ beyond words." He bowed and kissed her hand as he reached the center of the room.

"I hope you know how to waltz Sir," she said as she guided his hands into position. The music cued in, but just before they took their first step, a loud snap was heard, as the string of a musical instrument broke, letting out a discordant note that resounded in the room.

It shattered the moment. Everyone was frozen in their position, as if she was the only living person in a room filled with statues. Sarla turned to look at the apprentice bard, whose well-defined face was visible for the first time; hair tucked behind his ear in haste.

She remembered seeing warm hazel eyes that held hers steadily, as if he could see her very soul…

Sarla opened her eyes with a start, the unexpected end of the music still fresh in her mind. She rustled against the sheet that covered her, silk fabric rubbed against her skin as she slowly brought herself to full consciousness.

_I had a dream… or was that a memory? _

She blinked in the darkness, waiting for her senses to awaken. Yes, she remembered it now. She remembered being pulled and ushered away by her ladies in waiting because it was bad luck for an instrument to break in the middle of playing. It was an omen, and she would do well to remember that as Crown Princess, she should not just pick up and dance with anyone. She would do well to remember this as she grew older. And now…

Now, it was time to get up. She shook her head. This was a slow process. She turned her head to one side and rustled some more. There was something nagging at the back of her mind, like she was close to arriving at an important insight, but her mind was still hazy from the dream.

She looked around and noticed a thin line of light that seemed out of place in the comfortable darkness that surrounded her. She reached out to touch it and was surprised when she felt that the darkness had a texture. It moved with her touch and light came in like water between its folds.

She squinted. With the light came the memories of last night. She groaned and remembered where she was. She also remembered who brought her here, and how she cried like a baby, refusing to let go of him even as he set her down the bed. She cried until she was no longer sure _what_ she was crying for. She remembered how _good _it felt just to be held by someone; and it made her cry more when she realized she did not even had to hide it. So she succeeded in crying herself to sleep. But not much else. She could have seduced the Imperial Prince last night and have him eat out of her hands by this morning! A wasted opportunity…

But… did she really want to? She sighed. What mess had she gotten herself into now? Luce was indeed worth seducing; he was a prominent chess piece in Dhorn politics, heck, he was the only heir to the throne, much like she had been. His Kingdom, no, his _Empire_ rivaled the size of Betancuria, and it was larger now with the addition of her Kingdom. And he was attractive, _dammit_, too attractive for his own good.

But what was she to do with her budding feelings for him? Was charming her way into the Prince's bed the best way to develop things between them? Did she want to be his consort, and so soon, after she herself had just become somebody's wife?

And just where was he anyway? For that matter, where was she?

She tentatively cast her hand out and felt around the space of the large bed for another presence. She was alone; he must have fled while he was still able. She wouldn't blame him really, he must think her pathetic now… _I've succeeded in embarrassing myself so thoroughly, _she thought as she sat up. _But no matter. I can always play my charms again later._ Her feet moved to the side of the bed and found the floor before her body eased forward. She brought her head out and waited for her eyes to adjust to the light. Just then, a rustling sound apart from her own alerted her of someone else's presence. She instinctively drew backwards, readying to defend herself if there was a threat.

"Good morning Princess," the familiar voice of Luce stopped her movements. Her eyes had adjusted enough to see the outline of someone sitting across the room, among the cushions laid out near the window. "Did I wake you?" he inquired.

She brought her head out from the drapes again and shook her head. Looking beyond him, she saw the late morning light streaming into the room from behind the windows. "I think it's about time I rejoined the world of waking." She turned her head away and frowned at the sourness of her breath. Good thing he was sitting quite a distance away.

She glanced at him again and noticed that his hair was unbound; his long brown hair came down like a silver streaked dark river running down his body and pooling at the ground beside him.

"I hope you slept well." He said as he stretched his legs in front of him. She had to admire his lean shape, barely outlined by the white silk robe he wore. Then she noticed the mandolin that he held with one hand; one string snapped from the rest.

That reminded her… "Luce…" she said and met the hazel eyes that were regarding her calmly, almost serenely from where he sat. Her dream came back to her in full force. "You… you were there, weren't you? On my 14th birthday? You were the bard's apprentice…" She brought her wide eyes to him in recognition. "Did you compose the Princess Waltz?"

A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. "Was that what you were dreaming about? A memory?"

"How did you…" Sarla started but stopped herself. How did he what? How did he know that she was dreaming? How could he not tell her that he had been to Betancuria, years before? How come the music he was playing reached her dreams? How come he never told her? And finally, what were the other things that she did not know?

_A choice you made all the same… _

Sarla closed her mouth, her words dying at her throat. Her grandmother's words came back to her. Who she danced with that night; that had been a choice. When she stopped writing letters to him; that had also been her choice. When she ignored his invitation to be entertained at Rosethorn Court when she was 17, two years before they invaded her country; that had also been her choice. To be married to a man she hates… Every major decision at every turning point in her life, she chose consciously or just went along with peacefully. Would things have been different if she fought some of them?

Would things have been different for them, if she had danced with him that night? If any of those other decisions had been made differently? She could not ask, did not dare to, and her heart clenched when she realized that she was afraid of the answers. She sought his eyes after composing herself and saw him give an apologetic smile. His eyes were full of warmth and a hint of amusement, as if she had caught him with a secret he never meant to reveal.

_I could have chosen you…_ Sarla felt the tears returning to the edges of her eyes. _She wanted me to know that I could have chosen you. _She looked up to the ceiling and prayed that her eyes won't tear up again. "By the gods, after crying all night, you would think I'd no longer have any tears left!" she said as she gave a tired laugh and wiped the corners when she failed to hold them back.

Luce paused for a moment, then he stood up and she saw that his hairs reached up to his ankles. "We are connected more… closely than I thought." She frowned but remained silent, not making sense of his words.

He took her expression as a question to be answered. "You were speaking in your sleep. A nightmare, I think. You were restless, and I could not understand your words, so I picked up my instrument and started to play for you…" he put down the instrument he held in an end table propped against a nearby wall. "I was playing old tunes. My enthusiasm got the better of me it seems, that I damaged this instrument shows it."

The dream she had was so much more. But it touched her that he would admit to doing those things for her. She looked away and frowned. Why does he keep doing such endearing things?

He paused for a long moment, and she all but flinched when she heard his voice again, so close now. "Sarla… my music reached you, that was enough. I would gladly do more for your comfort, you have but to say the words."

"Your Imperial Highness…" Sarla said as she lifted her head and met at his hazel eyes. He was offering her so much more, she could see it in his eyes. What could she say in response to that? Was there any use in pondering how things could have been different? _No, I'll only go insane._ She shook her head. "You need not do these things." She said, feeling the walls she had erected around her heart come up once again. _And I shouldn't be so vulnerable like this._

"Why do you say that?" Luce's voice interrupted her thoughts. He paused by the bed stand, leaning against it as he looked at her.

How can she make him understand her tangled mess of feelings without making a fool out of herself? "You've been so kind to me, last night and… and before, during the Grand Mask Ball. And now this…" she gestured around, struggling for words that would not give too much away. "You need not carry me away, or wait on me, or be my bard, I…" she looked around exasperatedly, trying to come up with a good excuse. _I don't deserve it._

She had none to offer him. "You… you shouldn't even be here!" she said finally, in a vain attempt to push him away. It rang hollow in her ears. She could have said what she really thought, that she didn't deserve any of it, but he would never accept that. Less than five minutes ago, she was pondering about seducing him, but now he had turned the tables and was very close to seducing, not her body but her _heart_.

No, no, _no!_ He was a _Dhorn_, they were the _enemy_! And though she assented to marrying one, it was with the end in mind of using and killing him. Oh, why had things gotten so complicated?

"Well, I have every right to be here," he said as he straightened up, a crooked smile in his face. "These are my private apartments… in my castle… in my Empire…"

Sarla looked at his smiling face, exasperation plainly written on her face. He loved teasing her every step of the way it seems. "That's not what I meant..." she mussed her hair absent-mindedly. He could be so… _adorable_. Oh gods... The man had an uncanny ability to reduce her to giggling prepubescent girl.

But she can't let that happen, oh _no_. She needed her wits about her. She has to gain the upper hand. That he was so… willing, was good. Whatever the dynamics of this emerging relationship will be, she has to make sure that everything will be to her benefit. She will have to play things by ear.

_By ear, not by __**heart**_, she reminded herself.

"Princess…" he said as he leaned against the bedpost once again. "I do these things because I want to. It's as simple as that."

He did not have to convince her further. Sarla looked into his eyes and saw the honesty reflected there. She realized for the first time that he made himself vulnerable to her. He did things to please _her_. And he did these things even though he knew that she could offer nothing in return, even if they were in precarious situation… He dismissed those concerns and did what he wanted to do. And if that meant standing between her and her husband, at the risk of controversy and fire from the court _and_ the military, then so be it.

He was either very stupid or very brave. Either way, his actions had demonstrated that he felt far more than a passing interest. He _wanted_ her.

He held out his hand. "Come, let us eat."

She looked at his hand first, then at his smile and finally his eyes. "Your life is about to get extremely complicated."

"Oh, I look forward to it." It was his last chance to back out of the whole thing, but he was unfazed.

She smiled, her first real smile for that day, and took his hand.

* * *

"As a manservant, I'm terrible." Luce leaned back on his chair and took a bite of bread he held in his hand. He tilted his head as he chewed, waiting for the reaction of the woman sitting across him. They were in a small chamber, sunlight filtered through small colored glass windows near the ceiling while white linen curtains covered the larger windows up to the floor.

"Yes! Yes, you are." Sarla said after she swallowed. "If you're going to wait on me, you should be sensitive to my every need!" She replied in a mocking tone. They sat around a small round table where food was set atop in a rotating blade at the center.

Luce almost choked, rising up from his reclined position. "Just earlier you were saying I don't have to do those things for you and now you want me to do more?"

"Well, now that my stomach is full and I'm thinking straight, I've reconsidered." She sat up straighter in her chair. "It would be highly advantageous if the Imperial Prince became my manservant, subject to my every whim." Sarla chuckled as she reached out to pick up her goblet of wine. "I could have the whole Empire licking from my fingers."

And what beautiful fingers they were. Luce lifted his eyes and studied the woman in front of him for the _nth_ time. She was a mess; her eyes was puffy from releasing a torrent of tears last night, parts of her auburn hair escaped from the braid that she wore and she was clad only in a robe three times her size. There was no doubt he looked the same, though he did have a bath _and_ tried to brush his long hair before she woke. At least.

Trying to reclaim a sense of dignity, she at first tried to sit up straight and act prim and proper, but she abandoned all her pretenses when he started eating with his hands. She balked at first, trying to do the polite thing and ignored him. By the way that she was looking at his greasy hands now, no doubt she was going to say something... Any second now.

"…And I still can't believe you don't use tableware. Did you even wash your hands?" she said as she raised a spoonful of food to her mouth as if to demonstrate a point.

"No, I like to keep the grime on them. Adds to the taste," he replied with a wink. He pulled a piece from the roasted chicken in front of him and brought it to his lips with a smile.

Sarla grimaced but soon she was laughing again. She toyed around with the chicken on her own plate, then shook her head. "My Father would never stand for such things." She looked at him again with a smile. "I had rigorous etiquette lessons because the Royal Family was constantly on display to the whole court. We even eat at a public chamber that the higher nobles can visit at will."

He watched her closely as she went through the motions of eating now. She carried herself with such grace that it was effortless. He bet that she could be tending to pigs in a manner that made her regal. Its only to be expected, he supposed. After all, she was bred to be a Queen someday.

Or perhaps even an Empress?

He smiled and shook his head. He's getting ahead of himself again. He forced his wandering thoughts back to her and recognized the subtle shift in her posture. She was feeling sad again, as she was often wont to do whenever her thoughts turned to her Kingdom. He could never understand why her mood always deflated when her thoughts turn there. It's not just homesickness; he could sense a certain… hopelessness about it. As if she's resigned herself to something… something that she had tried, and failed, to change.

Whatever it was, he simply cannot bear her unhappiness. "You know, you are a poor guest," he said as he started to wipe his hands on the napkin. "You abuse and insult your host, and have been ungrateful of the hospitality you've received so far. And now you're getting sad all by yourself. _Tsk tsk_. You must have been so used to getting your way all the time…" he said with mock sneer.

Sarla laughed at him, the sounds echoing in the small chamber. The gleam was back in her eyes. "When you have a baby girl for an only heir, you spoil her _rotten_, it's an unwritten rule."

Was that an invitation? "What, and have her turn out like you?" He was extremely tempted to try for one with her, _right now_. He tilted his head and managed a smile, he dearly hoped it didn't come out like a leer. _Get your mind out of the gutter, your Imperial Majesty,_ he reprimanded himself.

Sarla threw her head back and laughed again, raising her legs to rest upon the empty chair beside her. "Let's hope not. Anyway, this spoiled princess is in need of more wine," she cast her eyes around the room. "Where are your servants? Don't you have any?"

She was _very_ observant. Luce took a deep breath. "I do. They're around somewhere," he said as he leaned back on his chair. And here he thought that he had her fully occupied.

"If you want more wine, there should be a pitcher by the end table near the door." He expected her to prod him some more about the lack of servants and ask for one to bring it to her, so he was quite surprised when she rose to her feet and just took it.

"After this meal I'm going to need a bath and real clothes, you understand?" she said as she filled his goblet first, her actions showing a bit of the valley between her breasts. Gods help him, she was more beautiful today than when she was fully naked in his arms. Such a temptress. And last night…

Last night, he could not bear to stay beside her as she slept, though he wanted to. He knew that he would not be able to stop his wandering hands, not to mention the other organ that tortured him for release. For both their sanity and continued dignity, he left as soon when he was sure she was asleep and took a _very_ cold bath. Then he used a sleeping spell on himself and was glad that he awoke before she did. He peeked to make sure that she didn't disappear with the night (as dreams were often wont to do). In fact, he looked again just to make sure. Twice. Thrice. And he even held her, too. _Oh, hells, groping was more like it. _But when she started thrashing from her nightmares, he was at a loss on what to do. She would not wake, no matter how much he called and shook her. That must've been some dream.

She filled her goblet and set the pitcher down near him, before she turned and flopped down the chair. "I want to look presentable when they come for me…" she said as she swirled the liquid in her hands.

Luce frowned, his attention snapping back to her. He leaned forward, his eyes finding and holding her gaze. Was she thinking about leaving so soon? "Sarla… you can stay as long as you like." He bit his lip, but the next words came out anyway. "This doesn't have to end."

The room grew quiet and she stared at him for a few heartbeats. He cannot tell what she's thinking. It scares him when she withdraws into this impassivity that makes her hard to read. He wondered if this skill was something she developed to survive the politics of court. After a pause, she lowered her eyes. "Now you're just trying to be a good servant, to try to put me at ease." Her words were careful and measured. She was hedging...

Perhaps he should make himself more clear. "To everyone else, I am the Imperial Prince. And you are my guest. You are free to leave anytime you want to, but… I'd rather that you stayed." _And not just tonight,_ but he was able to stop himself from saying that this time. He was sure that she had a lot on her mind. He didn't need to add to that anymore.

She was silent for a while. "How long…?" she kept her eyes down to her plate.

He gave a crooked smile. Oh, this woman was dangerous. She considers things carefully before she makes a decision. "As long as it takes." _Forever, if I can help it._

Sarla gave a small smile as she finally lifted her eyes and met his. She seemed to be relieved. "Well why not? Somebody has to make you suffer…"

His life was going to get complicated indeed.

* * *

The beautiful view of the countryside with its rolling hills and grass-covered glades was welcome along with the zephyr's breath that blew across her form. Sarla leaned closer to the balcony and closed her eyes, enjoying the breeze. She could hear the way the distant chirping of birds and the leaves of the nearby trees as the wind passed by. She took a deep breath and felt her heart beat slow to a near standstill.

The cold that spread through her body was pleasant, as if she was embraced gently by the world itself. When she opened her eyes, she saw Luce beside her, looking at her with a wondering expression in his gaze. "I don't believe… I've ever seen you this way," he whispered quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence itself.

Sarla broke into a smile. "I've always loved being in nature's grace. It just feels so… comforting. Like I'm home."

She felt safe, all the tension of the previous months and weeks had slid off her like water. And to think that she could feel all this while she was under his care… She opened her eyes and turned to him, noting the way that his hazel eyes became lighter under the sun. She could just discern a hint of yellow in them.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying the tour of the castle so far, though you seem to be more interested in what's outside than what's within," Luce said in a slightly hurt tone.

She laughed and laid her hands on his arm. "What?! It was _very_ interesting to go through the hall with the collection of musical instruments you have accumulated, the library where you kept thousands of the books you've read, the stables where you kept your prize horses…" she poked at his side until he started to squirm. "But I have a thing for balconies; it's the perfect place to shove someone to fall to their death."

"You have such a morbid sense of humor..." he said as he shook his head and continued to fend off her attacks on his ribs. The man was terribly squeamish, but his masculine pride prevented him from giving an appropriate response to her prods.

"Ah, the Imperial Prince is perhaps afraid of heights, _hm_?" She stopped her hands and smiled widely at her discovery of another one of his complexes.

"No more than how much you _adore_ spiders, Princess." She raised an eyebrow; he noticed that? "But come, I promise not to point out the spiders that we pass through, especially the _little_ ones, if you promise to desist describing just how high we are, and how long you think it would take before the body you throw out lands on the ground below." He offered his arm and she readily took it again, laughing their way across the doors and through the halls.

_I could get used to this…_ Sarla thought as they walked. She just… followed his lead. He took her where he wanted to take her. Admittedly, she was also scouting for entry points to the castle and the balcony offered an excellent view of the layout in the place. But he didn't need to know that, and the banters were a useful distraction from her surveying activities.

She enjoyed his company much, much more than she was willing to admit. What she feared would be an excruciatingly awkward affair, felt so natural instead. It's a good thing that they were alone, no prying eyes or whispering mouths to tell them otherwise. She had him all to herself. But… she frowned a bit, that was hardly natural, was it?

"I do wonder where your retinue is, My Prince?" she voiced her question outloud. "Where is your council? Should they not be trailing in your wake right now?"

"I have no wish to bring back that state of things," Luce replied, looking forward as they walked. He was taller than she was, so it was quite easy for him to cover great distances with those legs of his.

"Is that—" she suddenly paused then continued to walk, her shoulders tensing forward a little. "..so? That's—" she paused again, shifting back a bit. "…quite strange—_Argh!_ By the gods, Luce, this fabric _itches_." She stopped altogether and mentally counted to prevent her fingers from going to a very inappropriate place. Especially in front of him.

Luce laughed at her movements, leaning forwards and using his other hand to prop himself against the wall.

"Laugh at my pain, why don't you," she grimaced as she let go of his arm and adjusted herself, her hands tugging the fabric of the riding pants she was wearing. She had been ignoring the uncomfortable fit of her borrowed pants but their recent walking had made her painfully aware of it again.

"Ugh, this is torture. It's tight and it itches where it's not supposed to…" she turned a hurt glance at Luce. "Are you sure you didn't have any extra gowns or dresses that I could use? Not even those left after the ladies were done with you?"

"Please…" He said with an indignant huff, straightening himself. "I do my whoring outside."

"Yes, yes, I remember." She said as she recalled their meeting during the Grand Mask Ball. "You were waiting to jump on the first unsuspecting woman in one of the rooms. It never occurred to you to go out the hall and get one yourself?"

"I could, I suppose, but that's so crass. I prefer the ladies falling into my arms. And even making us invisible..."

"That sounds vaguely familiar…"

"It should. I've never been groped so thoroughly in my life." He said with a hurt tone. "In fact, I should return you the favor, should I not?" He lunged at her, attacking her sides in the same way she had been doing earlier. Peals of laughter emanated from her, which was cut off by the sound of something tearing. "Oh gods…"

He stopped and gave her room to assess the damage, looking at her with a mischievous gleam in his eyes. "You know, you could wear _nothing_ at all..."

"Parading through the castle stark naked _once_ was quite enough, thank you," she replied as she righted herself and walked forward once again, thankful, not for the first time, that the hallway was deserted. "Oh if our courts could see us now. The Imperial Prince of the Dhorn Empire, dressed in vestments of a servant. The Crown Princess of Betancuria, dressed like a man."

"Quite a scandal, I'd say."

"Uh-huh. You'll never hear the end of it."

"Good thing there's no one around."

"Yes…" She looked back at him as if she remembered something important. They were completely alone. That was bizarre as well. "How come I haven't seen your servants either? This… wing seems deserted?"

He gave a mysterious smile. "People stay out of my apartments. You and I are the only living people here."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Sarla asked.

"For them? _Absolutely._ I am a force to be reckoned with." He said with a cock of his head.

She chuckled, shaking her head as her braided hair fell to one side. "Oh I don't doubt that. What I meant was, aren't you worried about assassination attempts? Surely security measures should be taken to keep you safe?"

"I am not completely defenseless," he said as her movements made him play with the braid of his own hair unconsciously. She smiled inwardly; she insisted on braiding his hair earlier after she was done with hers, an excuse really, to touch his long hair.

"Let us just say that I have a very effective… early warning system."

That was unexpected. Sarla looked at him with a frown. "Interesting… and creepy at the same time."

"No more so than your ability cast spells out of thin air."

"I am a sorceress...!" _Among other things_…

"Well, I am a diviner."

Sarla stopped walking and looked at him sideways. "You?" she suppressed her laugh. She suddenly had this image of a half-dressed Luce in a mage's robe, running out of some noblewoman's room before her husband entered. Now where did that come from? She bit her lip and tried to suppress her laughter. "Well, why don't you tell me my future, oh powerful seer?" she held out her palm.

He gave her a sly look. He took her proffered hand gently, his fingers tracing the engraved patterns on her flesh. He kept his eyes on her as he continued his feather light touches. "I do not need to look at this to know your future, Sarla…"

"Oh?" Sarla could distinctly feel the tingling sensations that shot from her palm straight to her spine. The intense look that he fixed upon her could have melted her, but she held on to her wits.

Never taking his eyes off her, he began, "I see… _The rubble of a once-great castle, a throne made red by the blood of its rulers, piles of corpses burning, their smoke blocking out the stars in the night. I see a dark knight, holding a dagger against a pale throat, silencing her as he tore off her dress… I see a soldier of the empire, kissing the back of a woman's hands, his eyes full of lust… And then blood, red blood, pooling at the feet of a woman who held the hilt of a sword impaled in the man's skull… I see a city beyond the metal bars of a cage; dark-skinned people walking past windswept streets and columns made of stones that glow with a light of their own. There's an old man sitting in a throne surrounded by pools of lava. He holds an orb that glows with the color of your eyes… And I see you, I finally see you… dressed in a gown of a bride to be sacrificed upon the altar of the gods... And you vowed… you __**vowed**__…" _

His eyes, glowing golden now, looked at her and beyond her, focusing into her past. He was very still, as if he had stopped breathing. Then suddenly his eyes came into focus. "Sarla…" his voice was quiet. "Are you going to kill me?"

She stood stunned; the words he spoke caused the hair all over her body to rise. He saw her past! Are her secrets revealed? She was torn between the urge to run away, to empty her stomach, and to turn to him and collapse in his arms. Anything to get away from the haunted look in his face. Her hands were shaking. She swallowed the bile in her throat, and stared straight his Luce's eyes. _You deserve… you deserve the truth._ "Will I have to?"

The color was drained from his face. And he looked _very_ tired. "A question for a question, Princess…?" He stepped away from her and leaned back on one of the walls. "This is... I will not… I _cannot_…" he exhaled a shaky breath. "What-what a fine pair we make." He chuckled weakly and shook his head.

This was _not_ the reaction she expected. Dismissive? After all of that? No doubt he was disturbed, did he even recognize the importance of what he'd seen? Unless… unless he's used to seeing such things."Is this… is this why you are alone? No one can keep secrets from you, you see so much more than most…?"

A half-smile appeared on his face. "I don't want to talk about any of it," he whispered.

"Luce…"

"**No.**" He shook his head. "I know what I need to know. Please, let's not talk about it."

She heard the pain in his voice. It was more powerful than if he had screamed it out loud. "Then we won't." They were walking side by side now and Sarla did the only thing she could; she found his hand and linked it with hers.

He held it tightly, as if he were afraid that it might disappear from his grasp.

* * *

"The Imperial Prince Louis Cecile Alcant, escorted by Lady Sarla Benthur," the man standing by the door announced their presence as soon as they got close. Luce walked forward confidently, coming into the light. He spotted his mother immediately, sitting at a round table among older ladies quietly sipping her tea. The sounds of table ware and chatter ceased almost immediately when they reached her.

After the… incident earlier that day, Sarla had cajoled, pleaded and threatened to pull his hair so that he would bring her to the occupied grounds of the castle where she could find or borrow a more comfortable dress. She had enough of the tight and itchy clothing that he lent her. He resisted at first, citing all sorts of reasons. She looked good no matter what she said and he enjoyed her form, accentuated splendidly in those garbs.

He finally conceded after she threatened to go back to the Benthur manor for her clothes, adding that if she wanted to dress up as a man she could always borrow the clothes of her husband. She also hinted that if she left, she might not be able to come back.

Now _that_ was a threat. So they made their way to the western wing of the castle where there were plenty of ladies about; the retinue of his mother. They approached her table and he noticed the way that the Empress eyes' looked over Sarla from head to foot, no doubt noticing the way pants and boots parted the front fabric of the cloak she now wore.

"Hello, mother," he kissed her cheek. She inclined her head to receive his greeting.

"I shouldn't have left you with her…" The Empress said as she stood gracefully, all the other ladies in the surrounding table following her example. Her brows were creased in a frown that was directed at Sarla.

"Greetings, Your Imperial Grace," Sarla said as she curtsied.

"No need for formalities Cousin, save that for the court." She replied as she waved her greeting away. She frowned when she looked at the younger woman. "You should be in silk and laces, not in something my son pulled out of his closet," she sniffed and turned her nose away. "Most likely from its moldy and forgotten corners."

He was worried that Sarla would take offense, fortunately he saw her mouth quirk up before she flattened them again. "Forgive us, Your Grace, but we had to make do with what was available." She looked at him and winked.

"What is available?" She tsked as she tilted her head to one side and pointed at her son. "This _boy_ has the whole empire at his feet. He could make anything happen if he… just… _willed_… it." She said, emphasizing the last few words.

Luce shook his head. _Here we go again._ "On some things Mother, not all. I thought you could help her so I brought her here."

"_Hmph._ If only you put that head of yours to use more often," she said as she waved to someone from beyond their view, likely one of her maidservants.

"You mean come to you, more often?"

She leveled him with a look. "I will deal with you later." She turned to face Sarla once again. "My ladies will attend to your needs. You have my permission to take anything you need. Now be off, I'll see you again when you are properly dressed." Once Sarla was escorted from the room, the Empress waved away the rest of her retinue with a quick 'leave us' command.

Then she turned to her son.

Luce stifled a sigh. He could feel another one of those discussions coming… He sat down and waited for her to begin.

The Empress directed her burgundy eyes to him. "I cannot say I'm pleased with your behavior Louis," she said in a cold voice. She looked at him steadily, but he could feel her eyes on him as strongly as if it was her touch itself.

"Could you tell me exactly _what_ you are displeased about this time?" Luce said as he crossed his arms, and met her eyes squarely.

"I could tolerate your sneaking out of the castle, isolating yourself and shirking your ceremonial duties as Prince, even your unconventional behavior in all other matters, but now you take her in like a stray cat? In front of the high nobles and ranking military officials?!"

Luce waved her concern away as he took a seat at the table. "I would have thought you above their petty concerns. And she is not some_thing_ from the streets. She is an Ascivan! Was it not you who said that we stick with our own?"

"Her grandmother was a _commoner_!"

"And so was my _Father_!" his composure, normally well-kept flew out of the window again. This time, he would not back down.

The Empress lifted her head and looked at him wine-colored eyes deep and with a hint of fury in her eyes, but she closed them and said in a calm voice: "Your… _Father_ became the Emperor…"

"Her mother became _Queen_." He raised an eyebrow. "What is your manner of disapproval with her?"

"She is married!"

"To an ambitious but _insignificant_ soldier…"

The Empress' voice raised an octave. "Who had just been promoted General! Do you mean to take her as your consort?"

"She deserves more than that! Their marriage can be annulled…"

"She doesn't deserve _you_ Louis!"

He stood up from his seat and looked down at her mother. "I have made it clear in the past, let me make it clear again. What you _think_ doesn't matter. It's _my_ life. My _destiny_."

They were quiet for a while, reaching a stalemate in their argument as they always do. She was a stubborn woman and he inherited that stubbornness quite well. He had made her choice. "She _will_ be with me," Luce declared. "As it was meant to..."

The Empress shook her head and stepped closer to him. "Things rarely turn out the way we plan…" She reached for his hands and held them.

Luce blinked. He started to hear disembodied voices; forms of red and steel swirling in his line of vision. He could barely make out what they were but they surrounded her like smoke to fire. He frowned. This vagueness was troubling. No doubt she had found a way to shield her thoughts from his probing. His golden eyes pulsed with its own light, stopping her movements. "You're planning something…" he said with certainty.

She looked away. "Yes… A ball, in honor of your Princess." She turned her back and walked towards her seat, careful in her movements.

Luce took a deep breath. "Why?"

"I may not approve of your actions, but she will be treated as befits her station. The ball will take place a month from now. We can announce the succession then." She took a seat down the table and fingered the cup of tea that she set down earlier.

Luce looked at her, his golden eyes turning back to its hazel color. _I had almost forgotten about that._ He did not answer for a long while. "Do not interfere. That's all I ask."

She straightened up, her eyes meeting his again. "Are you prepared to lose everything?"

He shrugged.

"Then I _will_ interfere."

He gave her a look that would have cowed most but it washed over her effortlessly. This was her mother after all, no doubt it was just like looking in a mirror. "I warn you Mother, I never want to become like you."

When he looked at her, all he saw was a woman starved for power, prepared to do everything and _any_thing for it. She was born a lower noble whose branch in the Ascivan line was so insignificant, the soldiers overlooked their presence as they searched and killed the members of the clan. He never knew how she made her way to the marriage bed of this father. And frankly, he didn't want to. She was allowed her indiscretions, as long as she did not interfere in his own designs.

She said nothing. He bowed to her and walked away.

When the sound of his footsteps had faded away the Empress raised her eyes and looked at where Luce had stood. "_You_ will not." She said in a quiet, almost gentle voice. "But _she_ will."

_End Chapter 11  
_


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